


Sanctity of Marriage: Draco Malfoy

by BrightneeBee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Draco Malfoy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Omega Hermione Granger, Omegaverse, Possible violence, Smut, Warning for drug use, a bit OOC, i don't know what else to put, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, there blossomed a spark. Years later, there may be a chance to discover where that spark may lead, under the pressure of the new Marriage and Procreation Initiatives re-classifying designations. Everything is different, and there is no divining what the future holds. A/B/O omegaverse marriage law. Detours from Canon, slight OOC. Trying something new.





	1. Prologue, After the Battle of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I only enjoy writing fanfiction. All rights belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> A/N: omegaverse A/B/O marriage law - omega law fic. Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger. If you like it and want to review or PM me, feel free. If you hate it and want to flame or PM me, feel free.
> 
> No regrets...

THE SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE

The Open at the Close

 

After the Battle of Hogwarts

  


The three friends walked haphazardly, but together, back to the castle. They stepped through the stone debris and over the corpses of their enemies and friends, taking great care to not disturb the dead. The Elder Wand was now resting safely in Dumbledore’s tomb, where it would remain for eternity; the memory of it, hopefully, to be forgotten with time. At least, that was what Harry anticipated. Hermione felt that the wand should have been snapped in two and left to the giant squid in the Black Lake. Or, perhaps, set on fire. Both acts sounded delightful after all the trouble that ridiculous piece of wood had caused.

 

“I think you’re mental, mate,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Bloody  mental.”

 

“I like mine more,” Harry replied. “And there’s no need for the Elder Wand now. Voldemort is gone. We’re safe.”

 

Hermione felt a twinge of uncertainty at Harry’s words, but she took each boy’s hand and squeezed. “It’s for the best. No more death from now on. There’s been enough of it already.”

 

Harry, Hermione and Ron stayed close to each other as they entered the Great Hall, but Hermione had released their hands long before they reached the entrance to the castle. There was a low buzz of celebratory conversation, but also a tone of solemnity that kept the boisterousness at bay. People were paying their respects; families mourning, friends grieving, survivors stumbling around in silence. It was a grim sight, the dead being laid out in honor of their sacrifice, and there were still more on the battlefield that were waiting to be brought inside.

 

How many were out there in the grass and the sun? How many people had died throughout this war? How many were still missing, because their bodies had not been found? She found it hard to believe that the death count for both sides of the war could be so few. Less than a hundred? The numbers did not compute, not to Hermione. The total was much higher, it had to be. The first war, alone, had estimated a death count of over two-hundred. Voldemort’s resurrection had brought with it more violence, more abductions, and more tyranny. She was certain the numbers would round out to well over three-hundred casualties for this war. How could anyone describe that kind of loss?

 

The word tragic came to mind.

 

“Mum and Dad aren’t going to let you just shut yourself up in that old house,” Ron told Harry as they weaved through the groups of people in the chamber. “You’ll always have a place at the Burrow. Mum’ll insist on it.”

 

Hermione slowed behind them, looking around at the damaged walls and the shattered windows. What caught her attention was the human-shaped aperture in the large window behind what used to be the Head table. It stood out amidst the destruction; a singularly independent act that had left clean lines and minimal damage. There was just that shape in the middle of all that glass, and Hermione was confused as to how that much space had been left untouched once the battle had moved into the castle.

 

She never could tolerate not knowing.

 

“Harry?” asked Hermione, walking faster to keep up with the boys. Harry paused in his reply, shifting his focus from Ron to Hermione. He did not need to speak for her to know that she had his attention. She simply pointed to the window and asked, “What caused that? Did something fall through it?”

 

“No, it was Snape,” replied Harry, his lips pressing into a grim line and his eyes tightening at the corners. “He escaped through the window when he was dueling McGonagall. Flew off in that...black smoke...like Voldemort.”

 

“Oh.”

 

What else was there left for her to say?

 

The boys were already resuming their discussion of living arrangements as they joined the rest of Ron’s family. Harry was embraced by everyone. Hermione was acknowledged with the most welcoming expressions any of them could muster, and it was obvious that all they wanted to do was celebrate the end of the war. They wanted to rejoice that it was over, but all they could do was grieve. Ron was sitting down with his brothers, the whole family congregating around what used to be Fred Weasley.

 

Hermione couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear looking at any of the dead. The faces were supposed to be smiling, the eyes were supposed to be glittering with joy and light. The skin wasn’t supposed to be turning grey and waxy. They were all supposed to be alive; dancing, drinking, enjoying a more exuberant festivity than this charade of victory.

 

What had they won? A slew of funerals and years worth of rebuilding? Wounds that would never fully heal? What sort of triumph was this if the people they cared about most weren’t around to share it?

 

Fred had died with a smile on his face. His lasting memory would be that he had passed on with a laugh. It did not change the fact that he was still laid out with the rest of the bodies, a cadaver on a table. There was no longer that exuberance taking control of a room, no warm undertone of nutmeg and alpha musk slipping by everyone’s notice, no full bellied laughter. That lively fire that identified him as Fred Weasley had been snuffed out.

 

The same could be said about the Lupins. Remus and Tonks had been placed next to Ron’s brother, and the sight of them cut just as deep. What would happen to their son? Teddy was just a baby, barely a few months old. Who would take care of him now? He was too young to remember his parents, just like Harry. All he would know of them would be the stories people had left to tell. He wouldn’t remember Remus’ compassion and unwavering patience. He wouldn’t have the memories of his mother changing her nose into a pig snout, or sporting vibrant pink hair. How well off had Harry been with the memories other people had to share of his parents? It did not change the sharp sting of jealousy of having no memories of his mother and father to cherish for himself. Was that to be Teddy’s fate, as well?

 

Hermione knew that Harry would cling to the ghosts of his loved ones that had surrounded him in the forest. She could tell by the way he spoke about it, as he explained his decision to face Death as a friend. If she never read _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ again, it would be far too soon.

 

To Fred’s left rested Colin Creevey. It was impossible to believe that little Colin Creevey had snuck back into the battle, but there he lay, inert and stiff like the others. It was unnatural to look upon that face without the jittery energy and eagerness always present after the flash of his camera. It was shocking, because he was far too young.

 

Then there was Lavender Brown, who had chunks of her missing in places - as if she had been eaten. And Nigel Wolpert, whom Hermione had not known well, but she recognized the face all the same. As well as the numerous others being pulled inside from the Hogwarts grounds and laid out for people to pay their respects. A good handful had been Hermione’s classmates, carefree only a few years ago; eager to graduate, to present and know their designations, to find themselves outside of the academics of school. None of them would ever truly know what it was to live, or love.

 

Again, the word tragic came to mind.

 

This entire war had been one tragedy after another, and none of it seemed fair, because none of it was fair. The war, the youthful faces staring blankly up at the enchanted ceiling - it was simply wrong. It played in the back of her mind, nagging at her sense of justice. She thought back on Fred and Colin Creevey, and part of her could not force out the image of life leaving Snape’s eyes, or the sound of his last breath. She could not help but question that moment. It had been a messy, violent death, but the bottom line came down to the fluidity of Snape’s last seconds. Was death always that swift? Was it really that effortless? Had Colin’s last breath rattled in his lungs? Had the light in Fred’s eyes - all the joy and mischief - slipped away in a sigh? All these questions, all this death, and no answers.

 

“Hermione? You’re crying.”

 

“What?”

 

She looked to the side and saw Ron’s freckled face. His blue eyes were wide with - concern? No, unease. He was watching her as if she were fragile, as if she would flee at the slightest movement. She was not some delicate, doe-eyed girl who needed mollycoddling. She was just processing the victory differently. She obviously hadn’t known the tears were flowing, otherwise she would have choked her sadness down for later, in private.

 

She had been raised to be strong in the face of adversity, and all that. ‘Never let them see you cry, Hermione,’ her mother had said. ‘There’s great beauty in strength.’ At the age of six, Hermione had taken it to heart, which is why she spent so much of her school years hiding in the girls bathrooms. As her mother schooled her disappointment and smoothed out her daughter’s ungodly curls, Hermione had cherished that snippet of advice more than anything. It was one of the few times her mother had shown her any sort of attention. No, affection.

 

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she sniffed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I think I’ll go wash up and lay down.”

 

“If you need anything,” offered Ron, his long, nimble fingers tucking a crooked lock of her hair behind an ear, “all you have to do is ask.”

 

She nodded, tensing in his arms as he pulled her close. Usually, she craved affection, but she had never known how to handle it when she received it without initiating it. At some point they would need to discuss the kiss, as well as the other problems between them. They could never move forward until all their issues were laid to rest, but it could wait for another day. There were still rough times up ahead; the coming weeks would be busy and stressful. When the waters settled, Hermione and Ron would clear the air. For now, she needed to think. She was certain that in the coming days Ron would need his friends. He would need people to lean on, while his family mourned their losses, but for just a little while, she wanted nothing more than to carve out some time for herself.

 

Her main concern was to find a quiet place to decompress and process the last ten months. There was too much death everywhere she looked, and she had never processed it well. She had laughed during her own grandmother’s funeral years ago, because all the sadness had been overwhelming. She was starting to feel that same overwhelming sadness press in on her from all directions, and there was a churning in her chest, or lower. Her mind was jumping from one question to the next, and she hated not having any answers.

 

With a sniff, Hermione and Ron separated. She gave her excuse to the rest of the family and left the Great Hall without looking back. The corridors were unnaturally quiet as she climbed the staircases with heavy limbs and clouded thoughts. She let her feet guide her through the castle, while her thoughts drifted elsewhere and nowhere. She didn’t pay attention to where she was going until she was standing in front of the large bay window in the library - the one tucked in the back corner, where no one else ever dared go. It was her favorite place in the library, because the window had a ledge wide enough to sit comfortably. All she needed was a quick Cushioning Charm, which is exactly what she set out to do.

 

Perched on the window ledge, Hermione brought her knees to her chest and allowed her despair and tears flow freely. She gasped through her sobs, unable to catch her breath as the death and horror of the last year overwhelmed her mind. The cost of victory choked the air from her lungs as it all sank in, as she watched the ruins of the castle smolder below. She was watching her childhood turn to ash, but, then again, when had she ever experienced a childhood? She had never connected with other children before Hogwarts, and upon admittance into the school for witchcraft and wizardry, Hermione had spent most of first year and onward keeping Harry and Ron from failing. The more accurate phrasing could only be that a large part of her life was gone, and she was at a loss at what the future held.

 

So lost in her thoughts was she that Hermione never even noticed that she was not alone in the small corner of the library.

 

“Sickle for your thoughts, Granger?”

 

Her wand was pressing into Draco Malfoy’s jugular before she realized what she was doing. The look on his face stopped the curse before it took form on her tongue. Wide eyes filled with terror, hands up to show he had no wand, just a book - he had apparently slipped away from his parents with the same idea as she had. She found no inclination in his eyes that he meant her harm, and he wasn’t aiming a wand at her in return. He wasn’t even pulling away from her, as if he was familiar with the need to stay still and be submissive when faced with danger. It didn’t stop her from digging the tip of her own wand into his neck, wide-eyed herself, and questioning his motives for being in the library.

 

And then she smelled it, that undertone of alpha hiding behind his apprehension and fear. The stress of the last two years must have triggered him to present early, but it didn’t seem as if he had reached the point of maturity, yet. Hermione should know better than most, and she could sympathize. She had presented as omega during her recovery in St. Mungo’s at the end of her fifth year. The pain of the hex burn, the stress, and the grief of watching Harry lose Sirius in the depths of the Department of Mysteries - her hormone levels had skyrocketed, and she had been housed in a special unit while a team of beta witches had treated the hex burn during her transition period, still months to a year away from her first heat, something that had yet to come. She had been brewing suppressants and scent blocking potions in secret ever since, refusing to go through a maiden heat, or any heat, until the war was over. She hadn’t wanted to be viewed differently, or treated differently. Omegas were rare in the wizarding world, and viewed as weak, needing protection. She was far from submissive and incapabable. The only people who had known had been Professors Snape and McGonagall. Not even Dumbledore had been advised, both professors wary of how he would use the information to benefit Harry. She had agreed with their sentiments.

 

The malnourishment and stress of the year spent on the run had, at least, prevented Hermione from going into heat, but she had still pushed herself to get creative about hiding her designation from the boys. And it seemed Draco had been hiding his designation, as well, if the smell of fading eucalyptus was anything to go on.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The corners of his lips curled into a growl, “I came for the solitude, obviously. Not to be assailed by some -”

 

“I would consider your words carefully,” warned Hermione, digging her wand a bit more viciously into his jugular. “I wouldn’t hesitate to reacquaint my fist with your nose.”

 

He glared, but there was a flicker of regret in those grey eyes, and recognition as his nostrils flared. It was hardly noticeable, but it had been there, flitting through his features before he quickly buried it. And another, less tangible emotion that lingered at the corners of his eyes and lurked in the depths of his pupils. For the life of her, Hermione could not place what he was thinking, but she suspected he might have caught a whiff of her underlying scent, as well. How long had it been since she took her potions?

 

“It must feel wonderful to be on the winning end of the wand, Granger,” countered Malfoy, his features resigned. “If you ever feel like gloating, be sure to drop by Azkaban with your friends. You can all point and laugh at me through the bars.”

 

She withdrew her wand and pushed him away, settling back against the arched inset of the window. The words that passed her lips were laced with disgust and dripping with her own indignation at the very assumption. As if she would ever stoop to such a level.

 

“There’s nothing to boast about, Malfoy. There was no triumph,” said Hermione, resuming her vigilant watch of the burning, crumbling bits of castle strewn about the school grounds. “No one won this war, not with this death toll.”

 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about, Granger?”

 

“So many innocent people died in order for Harry to succeed - for the wizarding world to survive,” she explained, continuing to gaze out the window. “Parents are going to be burying their children, and vice versa. How is that a victory?”

 

“It’s a victory for you,” murmured Malfoy, a breath of bitterness to his words as he sniffed. “I’ll be the one sentenced for life. Don’t be fooled by all the celebration. I may be sitting here, but it doesn’t mean that I’m innocent in anyone’s eyes. My family will be arrested before the day is out, and I’m certain Weasley will be pleased.”

 

She sighed, looking sideways at him and watching as he sat on the window ledge. He had obviously slipped away from the crowds and the all-seeing gaze of his parents, seeking out a few moments of quiet contemplation. She was certain he had come to this spot in the library to cry freely without recognition or judgment. He would not hurt her, not now. There was a high probability that he never would. There was something different about the way he was interacting with her that did not feel threatening. If anything, he seemed on-edge, and after his last remark, she could understand why.

 

Still, she did not think she could ever forget the horrible things he had said and done to her over the years, no matter how badly he had suffered recently for the mistakes of his father. She remembered every verse the Good Book spoke in regards to the sins of one’s parents. The Bible also preached forgiveness, and she realized that she already had forgiven him. He couldn’t have helped how he had been raised, and there had been a distinct change in him since their sixth year, if she really thought about it. Today she could allow him a tentative step towards a truce. It wasn’t much, but it was something that she could control. She could, at the very least, offer silent companionship on this day, of all days.

 

She noted how he leaned back, resting his arms on the points of his bended knees, limbs rigid with tension; the peculiar way in which he set his jaw, the anxious twitch of his cheek, the agitated fidgeting of his fingers, the unrestful tapping of his foot against the stone ledge. It was evident, in that moment, that Draco Malfoy had been just as innocent as every other child fighting in the war. He was just as haunted as she was, and then, perhaps, more so.

 

She remembered the decline in his glowingly pale complexion her last year at the school, the desperate nature of his actions and the hollow look about his eyes. She was acutely aware of the fact that Malfoy had been under extreme duress for the entirety of their sixth year at Hogwarts, but she never knew the repercussions following Dumbledore’s death. Had not the Dark Lord ordered Malfoy to murder the Headmaster? What had happened after Snape cast the spell instead? How horrific had his situation become?

 

The sallow sunken sockets of his eyes spoke volumes to many a sleepless night. The haggardness of his features relayed long-term stress. The pinched wrinkles between his brow alluded to copious amounts of time spent considering, contemplating, searching for answers. Draco Malfoy had once been attractive, arrogant, ignorant and obnoxious. Now he was subdued, and the vague hint of alpha was covered up by anxiety and fear. Life had a way of altering the things that define people most. She didn’t pity him for the suffering that caused his enlightenment, nor did it absolve him of past transgressions, but she could see how he had finally realized the error of his ways.

 

It was just odd, finally seeing through the filter of House rivalry.

 

“They may arrest you, but the charges won’t stick.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“You won’t rot in Azkaban, Draco. You and your mother, at least, are safe from that.”

 

Hermione did not know what made her say it, but she refused to regret it. He looked at her, all confusion and fear mixing together in those wide eyes. She didn’t have the energy to explain it to him. With another sigh, she extrapolated. Otherwise, she feared he would keep pestering her with questions. All she wanted to do was come to terms with the fact that she had no clue what to do with her life now.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“Harry told us...” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Harry told us that when he went into the forest, and he sacrificed himself for...everyone, really. Your mother was sent to check and see if he...if he was dead. She lied to the Dark Lord, for Harry.”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” scoffed Malfoy, looking back at the book in his lap. “It only ensures my mother walks free.”

 

“You’re more innocent than you think, Draco. You didn’t kill anyone.”

 

“No one will care. All they see is a Death Eater.” He was focusing on just that, but there was so much more to his situation. She wished he could see that. “There are no fair trials for Death Eaters.”

 

“But how willing were you? _He_ branded you to punish your father,” said Hermione, continuing with a sigh. “‘The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father suffer the iniquity of the son.’ I’m sure the wizarding world has their own interpretation. Secondary to that, you helped us escape when we were dragged into your home.”

 

“My Aunt Bella tortured you, Granger-”

 

“But you didn’t identify Harry,” Hermione insisted, hyper-aware of how much regret, and something unidentifiable, he still felt after watching her torture. It had been more than just traumatic for Hermione, that was for certain, and she had managed to escape. What had Draco experienced when the Dark Lord appeared, and Harry was gone? Draco had suffered, too. She could tell without hesitation or doubt, he had experienced far worse than anything his aunt had done to Hermione in those few hours. “You stalled as long as you could. I remember. You were just as afraid and disgusted by what Bellatrix was doing to me. If anything, I can testify to that.”

 

“I’m still afraid.”

 

“I know,” Hermione admitted, tears falling down her cheeks, taking his hand in her own with a squeeze. “I am, too.”

 

They settled into companionable silence, Hermione staring out through the window, sniffling and continuing to hold his hand, while Malfoy perused the book, now propped against his knees. They did not look at each other, nor did they speak. It was an unspoken agreement that they would share this space, for the short amount of time that they had, and then they would part ways with no mention of it again. Or she hoped he understood that this was what she planned on doing. He seemed more than amenable to sit in comfortable silence.

 

The day passed them by without notice, as they had both fallen asleep on that windowsill. Too exhausted to notice their eyes closing, they slumped against each other, and then shifted on the wide ledge. Their scent blockers had started fading, and when they finally woke, it was to find their faces pressed into the crooks of each other’s necks as the sun set below the horizon.

 

When vulnerable and non-dominating, alphas had a comforting scent for omegas, and vice versa. Their base instincts must have surfaced while they slept, and they had sought that comfort in each other’s scents to ward off the nightmares. To say their parting had been awkward would have been an understatement, to say the least. They hadn’t said a single word as they left the library.

 

Hermione was still exhausted and ready to collapse into an actual bed, while Malfoy needed to return to his parents before they lost their minds. They had probably already begun scouring the castle for him, if they echo of voices vibrating through the stone halls were any indication. They were most definitely overly protective of him. If there was one thing she envied Malfoy for having, it was his family. Putting aside the fact that Lucius and Narcissa were bigoted snobs, they did share an unconditional love of their son. They were an actual family.

 

She wondered how many families had been destroyed, ripped apart, killed during the last few years. How many children were being told that their parents were gone? How many parents would be burying their children in the coming days? She had asked herself these questions earlier, but they made her seriously consider how lucky she was, and how unfair it was, all this death.

 

She chewed on her lower lip as she took the staircases up to the seventh floor, she contemplated the existential dilemma of war. How could anyone call this a victory when the bodies were being lined up? There would be lists of the dead, the injured, the missing. There were orphaned children who would have no place to live.  Who would be responsible for the funerals? Who would house all these homeless children? And there was the question of Hogwarts, too. Who would rebuild the damaged portions of the castle? Did the magic to rebuild itself exist in each stone, or would it be on the staff and the Board of Directors? These problems existed with no solution or strategic plan in place.

 

Would they be advertising for volunteers? If so, Hermione would more than willingly sign her name to the effort. The charitable part of herself was adamant to help in every way that she possibly could. The rebuilding of the school, attending the funerals, all of them. Fighting for a sanction for some sort of orphanage or shelter, with proper care and mental health options to handle the overwhelming issues these children would be facing.

 

Actually, scratch that. There needed to be mental health options for everyone during the postwar. It wouldn’t just be the children suffering. Everyone would be suffering. Everyone would need help. People would need counseling and assistance to assess their emotional wellbeing. It would be a long road going forward, and not everyone was equipped to handle what was coming.

 

Reaching the seventh floor, Hermione turned down the corridor and could hear the Fat Lady conversing with her friend when the castle foundation seemed to shake. What could only be described as a rumble echoed up, followed by a crescendo of a ear-splitting, guttural scream. Hermione, on pure reflex, had her wand at the ready and sprinted down the corridor towards the stairs. Flinging herself down the steps, the adrenaline dissolved the exhaustion and her wandering thoughts. Flying down the corridors, she cringed against the ear-splitting scream vibrating through the stone of the floors and walls. She practically bowled people over as she reached the Entrance Hall, shoving past families and groups of friends running from the vast dining hall.

 

BANG!

 

The door to the chamber housing Voldemort’s corpse blew off its hinges, shocking everyone and creating a panic. Sheer terror ripped through the crowd of victors as the force that caused the disturbance was roiling inside that room, the wind roaring and rumbling but never leaving. Hermione, on pure reflex, had thrown herself in front of Malfoy with her wand at the ready, while Draco stared in abject horror. His parents were already pulling him back from the crowd, a family united. The thought of Voldemort returning would terrify them more than anyone. They had literally just escaped their personal warden, their vindictive master. For the Dark Lord, in fact, to not be dead, after all? It was something they could not possibly fathom, the one thing they would fear most.

 

Hermione slashed her wand through the air, creating a large gap in the crowd, and nudged the Malfoys toward it, “Get to the library! Take as many as you can! Go!”

 

All the people that had been congregating in the Great Hall began screaming, families huddling together and friends clinging to each other as everyone started rushing for the exit. A fair few drew their wands and formed a wall behind Harry and Ron, but no one was going to willingly enter that chamber. As Hermione pushed through the small group who had stayed behind to fight, if it came to it, she saw Harry banging his fists against an invisible barrier. Ron stood next to his friend, complexion green and expression less than enthusiastic about the possibility of what was happening. She yanked Harry back and cast at the ward, only to have the spell explode into a thousand red sparks.

 

It all happened so quickly, she didn’t even know what to think.

 

The second the sparks died out, Hermione felt a tug and was suddenly being pulled by an unseen force. Ron grabbed for her, but he was too late. She had been sucked into the chamber with the Dark Lord’s corpse, and no one could hear her through the howling wind. There was something more to it; a voice screaming through the destruction.

 

The air was whipping about the room like a violent storm through the topics, thrashing her hair and clothes about her person. Hermione spun around, trying to find the doorway through the tangled mess of her frizzy hair. There was something abnormal and unnatural in there with her, and it made her skin crawl. She wanted to get out of the room. She _needed_ to get out of there that instant.

 

Hermione managed to get her unruly, matted hair out of her face and turned again to find the exit, but not before her eyes landed on the corpse of Lord Voldemort. It was the most alarming thing she had ever witnessed. This went against nature and broke through all boundaries of magic.

 

The Dark Lord’s body was incinerating itself.

All the power used to create that body was burning through those dried veins. The whirlwind had to be his magic, the ungodly noise could only be the last pitiful shred of his soul, as both had most likely been adhered together and were still linked to the corpse. The body he had created in that cemetery, born out of a cauldron full of blood, bone and sacrifice - everything he had done for the sake of immortality - it was only logical to assume he had solidified his magic and soul into the corporeal form to further prevent death. He had only one tattered piece of his soul left, he couldn’t risk it if his contingency plans went to pot. With all the boundaries he had crossed to survive the natural course of life, she had wondered about the implications a few times during the last year. It was a brilliant idea, in theory, despite the fact that it hadn’t worked in the end, but it did not make it any less difficult to watch.

 

Hermione looked on in awe and dismay as the corpse destroyed itself. The body turned as black as scorched a log in a fire, the flesh cracking like old paint on a house. When she realized the extent to which the Dark Lord had gone to secure his survival, she still hadn’t expected this to happen, nor what was coming.

 

It was clear now that Voldemort had been weak before his death. Given his immense power, she had assumed there was more time to find a way out before it happened. He must have lost more than just his souls with each death of his horcruxes. No wonder he had spiraled so spectacularly the last year. With each piece of soul lost, his stronghold on mortal coil had started to sip through his fingers.

 

He had been dying anyway.

_“Hermione Granger…”_

 

The cold, high hiss of Lord Voldemort’s voice slithered through her head, and an unnatural chill weaved through her chest. It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be dead. Why was this happening? What the bloody hell had she been thinking going near that goddamned door?

 

When the veins began glowing like fire under the skin, she stumbled backwards until she met a point of resistance. Back pressed flat against a battered wall, she was acutely aware that there was nowhere to hide, no way of escaping. She was trapped in the chamber until whatever was happening was over. Nothing seemed more terrifying than being warded into a room with the burning corpse of the Dark Lord, not even going into heat in the middle of an alpha filled building.

 

“Ron! Harry! Someone!” Hermione shrieked, eyes large and flitting everywhere in the hopes there might be some small hole in which to escape. “Get me out of here! Please!”

 

As the force of the magic started pulling her with it, Hermione threw herself against the ward with fervor and vitriol. The corpse was beginning to smolder, which meant soon…

 

“GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

 

Hermione screamed as she was pulled into the eye of the storm, the body exploding in a cloud of ash. It filled the chamber, churning around her as that raw power turned turbulent. There was no escaping the inevitable act of inhaling contaminated air. She choked on the ashes, feeling them sear her lungs and compromise her very soul by being inside her. She suffocated as it all pressed in on her, circling her and forcing its way into her with each breath until the ashes were gone.

 

The windows shattered and the wind escaped, leaving Hermione in the middle of the chamber among the wreckage of furniture, barely conscious. With the ward gone, people rushed in to help, but Hermione could barely hear anyone, or anything, through the blood roaring in her ears.

 

 _It’s over. It’s finally over,_ Hermione told herself as she gagged on the remains of Tom Riddle. _He’s dead…_

 

That night, Hermione was kept quarantined in one of the isolation rooms in the hospital wing, encapsulated in a rather pretty dome of golden light. It was a day or two before St. Mungo’s healers managed to get to her, as there had been too many injured that had required immediate assistance. Whatever magic or power that had caused the destruction of the Dark Lord’s corpse had compromised her immune system from the moment she inhaled the ashes, and it became clear that it was far beyond Madam Pomfrey’s capabilities.

 

Working like a toxin in her blood, Hermione dramatically grew worse and had to be transferred to St. Mungo’s for special care. They managed to keep her alive, but just barely. Weeks passed before the damage was able to be reversed, and it had been Draco Malfoy as the messenger. There had been a rather lengthy parchment and one of the Dark Lord’s confiscated grimoires, detailing the antidote and spellwork necessary to save Hermione’s life, by way of a few disgruntled aurors that had been tasked with guarding the Malfoys while they were under house arrest. There had even been a sealed letter for Hermione, written in Draco’s own hand, and delivered by a rather terse auror, name of Stonewash. She couldn’t read it herself, but one of the medi-witches that sat by her bed and monitored her vitals had offered, and the letter had actually been one of the most tragically informative, heartbreaking missives the bushy-haired witch had ever received.

 

Once she was on the mend, and it was declared she wasn’t contagious, Hermione had demanded to be taken to the trials for the Malfoys. She had already had several medi-witches owl the prosecuting orators, requesting to testify on their behalves. She didn’t stop the owls until the Wizengamot agreed, and she refused to listen to anyone who attempted to dissuade her of going.

 

The Malfoys had given the Ministry everything, all the information, grimoires and parchments belonging to the Dark Lord, in order to help aide the healers in saving Hermione Granger. They didn’t have to do it, but Hermione was fairly certain Draco had asserted some of that alpha dominance and pushed his father to bend, for once. It had been Draco’s way of paying her back for saving him in the Room of Requirement. And testifying for him and his family was her way of repaying him for turning out to be a fairly decent human being, at long last.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangover morning, no good news, and that's all I got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for drug use, alcohol use, adult language, party lifestyle, and slight (probably full blown) OOC -ness.

CHAPTER ONE 

INEVITABILITY

  
  


_ ‘Marriage and Procreation Initiative passes! Unilateral party agreement!”  _

 

_ ‘’Designation Registration Act to take effect immediately!’ ‘Alpha, Omega, Beta: Who really benefits from MPI?’ ‘Heat Suppressants Banned!’ ‘Omega Discrimination Act stricken! Omega workforce no more!’ _

 

_ To Ms. Hermione Granger,  _

 

_ We are writing to inform you that as of 5 July 2005 the Marriage and Procreation Initiative passed into effect. In conjunction with the Designation Registration Act of 2004, statute O5846.97, all registered omegas over the age of 19 years are now subject to all laws previously accepted and passed by the Wizengamot… _

 

_...as a registered female omega, unmatured, you are required to remain abstinent from all forms of contraception and suppressants, as of 1 July 2005…  _

 

_ Contraceptive aides have been banned until further notice…  _

 

_ All unmatured omegas must submit with a registered male alpha, matured, in order to complete the Maiden Heat required to reach full maturity… _

 

_...additions to the Initiative and other relative laws now require female omegas to bind with a minimum of one alpha, maximum of two alphas, while male omegas are required to bind with only one female alpha. There are options and compatibility assessments in which you can apply for in order to match with alphas best suited to your omega biology. You are also able to choose out of the provided list of eligibles. _

 

_ Your appointment for mandatory heat inducement is scheduled for Monday 12 July 2005 at 7 p.m. If you do not have an alpha in which to complete your Maiden Heat, one will be provided to you upon request… _

 

_ Attached is the list of required necessities you will need to bring with you for your stay.  _

 

_ On behalf of the Ministry of Magic,  _

 

_ Cecilia Brookwood _

_ Omega Designation Registration Specialist _

 

“Fuck!” 

 

Hermione threw the stack of Daily Prophets across her quaint little kitchen, narrowly missing Theo’s head by a fraction of an inch as he stumbled out from his bedroom, and startling a very hungover Draco, who had been laying precariously over the side of the sofa since passing out on it in the early hours of the morning. Crookshanks had made himself scarce the second she had finished frying up her usual Saturday morning breakfast and sat down to read through her mail and the newspapers that had accumulated on the counter throughout the week. Theo’s cat, Blondie, had ran for it when Hermione had started reading the first headline. Theo had apparently been roused somewhere between the Tuesday and Thursday papers and the Ministry letter requiring her to submit for heat inducement.

 

Heat inducement. 

 

“Do I even want to know what has you screaming at eight in the morning?” mumbled Theo, yawning as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I can barely function after last night.”

 

Draco slumped in from the sitting room, half asleep and still a bit drunk from the night before, plopping indignantly into one of the chairs at the breakfast table and focusing on the open Ministry packet, “It’s too bloody early…”

 

_ Heat inducement.  _

 

After years of clinging to her autonomy, refusing to let go of her agency, and the Ministry was ripping it away from her, like it was no big deal. No suppressants. No contraception. Tying with two alphas, and no real choice in the matter. The only choice she was being given was who she could choose out of a list of eligible alphas that the Ministry had compiled. Or she could wait until she was petitioned for, and the Ministry would decide the possibilities for her to interview out of a smaller group, but she was less than appeased with that, either. 

 

She was starting to feel dizzy just thinking about it. There were reasons why she was nearing 30 and not yet settled down. There were also reasons why she avoided relationships with alphas, or relationships, in general. She had a challenging career that she actually enjoyed more than fighting the Wizengamot over every initiative and law regarding magical beings, only to have every single one of them denied. She had a place of her own, and even though she shared it with Theo, it was still partly her place. She also had a life; circles of friends, muggle and magical alike, with nights out and one night stands, hobbies, and the time, here and there, to do personal research, or just catch up on good fiction. She wanted to live her twenties, possibly her early thirties, before even considering settling down with a decent alpha, having children, and all that came with it. 

 

Dear God, she really needed a drink.

 

Digging through the cupboards, Hermione pulled out an old, dusty bottle of brandy, given to her as a present from her father for quitting the Ministry and taking a liaison and loan referral position. In his eyes, banking was a far more respectable career than pushing menial laws for the social improvement of magical and sentient beings for less than ideal pay. She uncorked it and drank straight from the bottle, taking the seat across from Draco, while Theo still tinkered away to make his hangover cup of coffee, overwhelmed with peppermint fudge and a sprinkle of pumpkin spice. 

 

Theo was far too obsessed with muggle java trends. 

 

“What the bloody hell is this?” asked Draco, holding up the pile of parchment and staring at Hermione, aghast. “You’re an omega that has never experienced Maiden Heat? Do you know how dangerous that is, Granger?”

 

Snarling, Hermione snatched the papers out of his hand, “I know, Draco, that’s why I’ve been on heavy suppressants since fifth year when I presented.”

 

“That can’t be right,” interjected Theo, taking a seat with his cup of steaming coffee. “You’ve gone through quite a few heats with me, Mione.”

 

“Pseudo-heats,” she confessed, eyes darkening in anger as she read over the list of eligible alphas. They had even been grouped by blood-class, which Hermione found extremely distasteful. Her eyes lingered on a few names with consideration. “Your hormones affect my hormones, and I experience sympathetic heats, which helps you when you’re peaking.” 

 

“And you presented in fifth year?” asked Theo, caffeine starting to kick in. “That’s...a long time to suppress biology, Hermione. Your Maiden Heat is going to be exponentially worse due to that and the types of suppressants you’ve been taking.”

 

“What kind of suppressants?” asked Draco, narrowing his gaze on Hermione, who was studiously reading over the paperwork with burning cheeks. “And who has been brewing them?”

 

Hermione mumbled the answer, trying to look enthused about the second list of eligible alphas, as she avoided all eye contact. She took another two gulps of brandy, eyes watering as it burned down her throat, and finally started to feel that minute buzzing in her limbs that preceded tipsy-ness. She would probably ask Theo if he had any pot -

 

“Here,” said Theo, offering her a joint out of his robe pocket, as he read through his own Ministerial packet with a sickened expression. She knew he hadn’t been wanting to settle down so soon, either. They were both too enamored with the freedom their lives had to hand it over to some dominating alpha. And he was gay to boot. How could the Ministry not take sexuality into consideration, as well? “Take it, Mione. I got more from Jimmy last night. We’ll be good for the week.” 

 

Hermione sighed, “God bless Jimmy.”

 

Draco was glaring at her then, not even interested by the lit joint perched delicately between two fingers. He was determined to get answer out of her, and he refused to let anything derail the conversation. Hermione had gotten used to Draco being around, so much so that the determination in his face was nothing new. They had grown to be quite close friends, and she could actually say she enjoyed his company and companionship when no one was around. There had been a few nights, when they were both two sheets to the wind and had passed out together on the sofa, or her bed, after making out from the bar to the flat. So far, Draco was the only alpha to ever get close enough to make a pass.

 

They had established an acquaintance after the trials, following the final battle between Harry and Voldemort. When Theo moved in, she had been aware that she would be seeing a lot more of the fair-haired wizard, which actually turned out well. She even went to New Year’s Eve balls at his parents house, at first as a way for Lucius and Narcissa to apologize to her for the atrocities she suffered under their roof, and, now, simply because they had gotten to know her over the years. Despite the fact that she had saved them from life sentences in Azkaban, they recognized her as a genuinely nice person, and had marveled at how easily she forgave them, considering the nastiness between their family and herself for so many years. 

 

“Granger,” warned Draco, crossing his arms. “You can’t avoid the question.”

 

With a choked exhale of smoke, Hermione finally relented, “I pay Snape triple for his own version of suppressants and contraceptives. He’s the only person I trust, and he’s discreet. Plus, his potions are bloody effective, with less side effects.”

 

Draco seemed to ease a bit, but still looked worried, perhaps nervous. He shared a look with Theo, something she noticed immediately, despite the heavy calm settling over her, and the third of brandy she had drank in mere minutes. It was as if they knew something she didn’t, but it couldn’t be about Snape, or his potions. The man may be less of an arsehole now than he had been before the war, but he was sexy as hell, and his products were of the best quality. It had surprised everyone when he had finally come out of hiding, looking younger than he had in years, and still a snarky piece of work. 

 

After a few years, he had seemed to soften a bit around the edges, but he was still sharp, still witty, and still incredibly brilliant. His products were worth the money she paid for them, and she didn’t care if it meant every so often the food budget got stretched incredibly thin. It also didn’t help that the exchange rate for wizarding currency to muggle was ridiculously laughable. Galleons were literally pure gold, and yet a single coin transferred over to be less than 5 pounds sterling. Again, ridiculously laughable. 

 

“What about your appointment at the Ministry, Granger?” asked Draco, helping himself to pot of coffee. “You’re going to need an experienced alpha, and the only one I know of that could restrain himself from marking you would be…”

 

“Snape, I know,” sighed Hermione, frustrated. “Maybe I should just choose now. My heat will be covered, and the marking can take place then. That allows me a few weeks before a binding ritual, and that should be enough time to train my replacement at Gringotts.”

 

“I can’t even begin to fathom how I’m going to choose,” grumbled Theo, shoving his papers over to Hermione. “I only know the Slytherin girls, and a few Ravenclaws, but… They’re not my type.” 

 

Hermione offered him a sympathizing, knowing look, none of them needing to clarify the statement. They all knew what he meant. She did skim his list, offering him a few names that she knew were open-minded, while he read over her options, as well. “Susan Bones, she’s still getting over Neville, but she’d never breathe a word about it. Katie Bell is really nice, and she can keep her mouth shut...Oh, Sophie DeLacour would be the best option. She goes both ways, and she’s kind, a lot of fun with a few glasses of elderberry wine in her. She would be definitely be discreet and agreeable to an open binding.”

 

“Sophie DeLacour it is then,” sighed Theo, flipping through the pages of Hermione’s eligible choices, scoffing. “Merlin, Mione. There’s barely three alphas on this list that I can see you tolerating for longer than a week.”

 

She groaned, “Really, only one.”

 

“Who?” asked Draco, very much interested. 

 

Theo replied with his choices, “Longbottom, Charlie Weasley, and you, mate.” 

 

“You’re right about tolerating, but the only alpha I’ve ever gotten along with has been Draco,” she answered, arching an eyebrow at Theo. “Maybe, possibly...Snape.”

 

“Snape? Seriously? Are you mad?” exclaimed Draco, choking on his coffee. “He’s been looking for a loophole since the initiative was first brought to the public! Besides, you’re both too stubborn, and he refuses to compromise. You’d kill each other before the week is out.” 

 

“Well, I can owl him to see, at any rate,” said Hermione, almost determined, and slightly curious as to what Snape’s response would be to an unmatured omega requesting him to mate with during her first heat. She would be sending owls to Charlie and Neville, as well, to be fair, but the look in Draco’s gray eyes was intensifying. “What about you, Draco? Should I owl you a written proposition, as well?”

 

He considered her for a second, eyes glittering, “Why waste the parchment? I’m sitting right here. Want to take me for a test spin, as well?”

 

“A test spin?” asked Hermione, a little confused by that statement, and then jumping on the latter end of his reply. “Wait… Test spin. Oh, that is brilliant. It could definitely work.”

 

“I was joking, Granger,” Draco cut in, exasperated, but she was already hurrying to her bedroom to start on the letters. 

 

She stopped for a second when Theo poised a very pointed question to the alpha wizard, “Were you?”

 

“Oh, shut it, Theo,” snapped Draco, his voice carry through the living room. 

 

Hermione didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, as she was already settling in at her desk and thinking over the best way to approach each individual wizard...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Indecision & Plots

CHAPTER TWO

INDECISION & PLOTS

  
  


It took Hermione a good part of two hours to put together the perfect proposals and send them off. The letter to Neville took the least amount of time, despite the distance of years and lack of conversation between them since leaving school. They had always had an easy camaraderie, and Neville had always been quite gentlemanly and extremely kind to her the months following the end of the war. He had sat outside the Omega Ward with newspaper clippings and letters from Harry, Ron, and Luna. Despite being a presenting alpha, the medi-witches had allowed him to visit Hermione one hour a week. He was trusted, he was established and known. The healers recognized him as safe, as long as he stayed in Hermione’s room, and then left when asked. He had even taken her a trilling cactus that still sat on her desk at home, ringing with a breeze like soft bells. Her position on Neville was one of friendship, but something could grow from it. 

 

Charlie’s letter proved awkward, but she managed it, knowing he was still a viable option. He was easy going enough, intelligent enough, broad shoulders and rugged handsomeness, an alluring alpha scent. He would most likely be the most agreeable to a separate arrangement, living on two continents. She could take a few portkeys to get to Romania the days leading up to her heat, and live her life in England during the inbetweens. He wasn’t a possessive alpha in the slightest. If anything, it could become a partnership. 

 

Hermione had spent a fair amount of time contemplating her proposal to Snape, who she hadn’t seen in person since leaving him in the Shrieking Shack. She still felt guilty, knowing it had been him who had passed along the antidote through Draco to save her. It was insane to even think he would ever agree, but she had nothing to lose. He was a powerful alpha, his scent had lingered in her thoughts from fifth year onward, and he had impeccable restraint. He was a stone cold arsehole, but he would be a challenge to crack until the omega workforce law was overturned, if she ever lived to see the day. There had always been something alluring about him, simmering underneath the surface. Under all that nastiness, Hermione could always tell he moved with a manner of self-assuredness. He was interesting, and she was curious to know how he would respond. 

 

At some point, Draco had drifted in with several joints, a lighter, and the desire to lounge on her bed. Every so often, he would pass her the one he was smoking, and take a look at the progress she was making on the proposals. He would offer her advice when needed in regards to Snape’s letter. As the wizard’s godson, Draco understood the best way to approach him. It was bloody useful to say the least. 

 

When the propositions were finished, Hermione set them on her desk to deal with later. Draco took Snape’s letter, stating it would be better for him to hand deliver it and explain the situation. Hermione agreed, knowing the blonde wizard would be able to bring his godfather around to the idea. Enough, at least, to come to the table. If Hermione had to pick an alpha, she damn well wasn’t going to draw names out of a hat. She needed to be in each alpha’s presence. She needed to smell them, see them in the flesh, be touched by them. She needed all the facts, including how she reacted to each and every one of them. 

 

No compatibility assessment could accurately calculate physiological response. 

 

“Well, that takes care of three,” said Hermione, taking in a deep drag off Draco’s joint. She matched his gaze, leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the back of it, while her fingers played with her short, wild waves. “What about you, Draco?”

 

“I’m game if you are, Granger,” he shrugged, then realized what he had just admitted, something tight at the corner of his eyes. Hermione didn’t need to sniff out a lie, it was obvious he was telling the truth. They both seemed to sober up a bit, the fact that he had hinted to liking her more than he had been letting on for so long enough to cut through the buzz they both had been enjoying. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Apologies. I meant, I have no objections.” 

 

Hermione shook her head, “No, don’t apologize, Draco. As I said before, the only person I was considering asking was you.” 

 

There was a pause, and then Hermione couldn’t help but to ask, “How long?”

 

“Does it matter?” he asked, voice a bit more quiet, small, but he looked at her without any curtain of confidence. “The Dark Lord is gone, thank Merlin. The pressure is gone, and blood status isn’t an issue anymore. Everything we’ve all been through saw to that, and my parents actually adore you. They’ve been pushing me to put a petition in for you since the law passed.”

 

Her eyebrows almost touched her hairline, “I knew they accepted me, but I never imagined they’d want you to marry me.”

 

“You’re more forgiving than the entire wizarding world,” offered Draco, taking the joint back from the omega witch. “Besides, you challenge my father when he slips back into old habits, and you helped smooth the way for mum to get those permits for the war orphanages. You’ve done more for my family, to help us, without any need to do it. You’re pretty amazing, Granger.” 

 

“Is that it? Because I’ve helped your family?”

 

“You’re also beautiful, fierce, and intimidatingly intelligent,” he grinned, taking a deep hit off the joint, finishing it off. “You’ve come into your own, you’re independent, and you don’t take shite from anyone.” 

 

That had Hermione laughing, because it was true. She had grown a thick skin during her school years, but something had happened during her recovery following the cursed ashes of Voldemort’s corpse. She had gone against Ron regarding testifying for the Malfoys. She had come out as a proud omega. She had turned heads by getting rid of her notoriously bushy mane in favor of a edgy pixie cut, and she hadn’t cared that Rita Skeeter had called her mannish. She had lived in a tent on the Hogwarts grounds, while helping rebuild the school and care for the orphans that had nowhere else to go. She had gone back and taken her NEWTs, managing Outstandings in 11 subjects. She had rejected the Ministry after seeing how corrupt the Wizengamot and governing body truly was, despite everything that had happened during the war. She had shocked everyone when she had taken the job with Gringotts, proving to be a ball busting bitch to get the goblins more rights, more privileges, more equal ground, while also creating ways to increase the bank’s revenue by implementing muggle loan practices. She had also garnered a lot of respect among the goblins by forcing the Ministry’s hand in regards to the expectations on goblin-made objects. Now there were monetary fees and penalties on those objects now, as well as the ability to renew contracts of ownership for a set amount of time. 

 

There was so much Hermione had achieved, and she wasn’t that bookish school girl, anymore. She had embraced her looks, grown into an attractive and stylish woman, which had been mostly Narcissa and Theo’s doing, but still. She had fun, went out, danced and laughed. She was vibrant and outgoing, and she took pride in how her life had turned out, so far. She was different, in a refreshing way. 

 

Now it was all going to change, and she wasn’t happy about it, at all. 

 

“So, tell me, Granger,” said Draco, changing the subject, while also shifting from vulnerable honesty to sly confidence. “What’s the plan? How are you choosing?”

 

She sighed, shaking her head, “I have no concrete idea, yet. I was thinking of, maybe, meeting with each candidate, individually, during the transitional period before heat. Omegas can imprint on the best suited alpha during Maiden Heat, if one is present, but it’s rare. There hasn’t been a pairing done that way in over 50 years.”

 

“You don’t plan on making us drop our trousers for a thorough examination, do you?” quipped the blond alpha, mirth sparkling in his eyes. “I’m all for it, but it might be a tad awkward.”

 

“It would be rather entertaining to see Snape’s reaction,” laughed Hermione, getting up from her desk. “Can you imagine?”

 

“‘If you think for a moment, Miss Granger, that I have any intention of dropping trou, as you so inelegantly put it, in front of these boys, then you’re far less intelligent that I ever anticipated,’” replied Draco, his impression of his godfather almost spot on, if not a tad nasally. 

 

They both howled with laughter. 

 

Grabbing her latest purchases out of the bag hanging off the back of her door, Hermione tossed one of the books to Draco, who caught it deftly. He knew the offer well, considering he usually found a reason to keep her company when Theo was off at work, since Draco had less demands on his time. Yes, he ran the orphanage foundation with his mother, but that required a weekly meeting and scrutinizing the expenditures himself. The rest of his time was spent with Hermione and Theo, or dropping in on his godfather for drinks and whatever else they discussed. Hermione never pressed for information on what they did, because it was none of her business. She placed her order every six months, and once the charge cleared her bank account, the suppressant and contraceptive potions were delivered, always on time. 

 

Of course, she digressed. 

 

Draco always went along with her on errands, or simply lounged in the living room with her and the cats, reading whatever muggle literature she had picked up, or had on her shelves, while she knitted little jumpers for her many godsons and goddaughters, or read through her fantasy novels, as well. It was always a relaxing pastime. They would share details, pick apart plots, and enjoy the escape of another world as reality continued outside the confines of Hermione’s flat. 

 

Most times, they shared a joint, partook in a bottle of wine throughout the afternoon, and then, if Theo had planned on going out that night, they took turns getting ready. Draco would flip through Theo’s extensive wardrobe, while Hermione showered and applied her makeup. She would then sit in front of her vanity and work muggle products through her hair, which worked better than any spell or copious amounts of Sleek Easy’s potion. She had so many oils, creams, and sprays, that she truly marveled how she had allowed herself to go so long without using them. Her hair was no longer bushy, frizzy, or unmanageable. No, she had well-defined, soft curls that could sometimes be wild, but her hair looked better, was more healthy, and above all, didn’t take as much time to style as it had been in previous years. 

 

This day, though, Draco and Hermione barely delved into the intricacies of their respective plots, and instead detoured back to the Ministry decrees. She explained how, as an omega, there was more to matching than pros and cons on parchment, which went against her younger nature, but did appeal to her sense of truly knowing it was right. He questioned how she planned on managing an Imprinting during a Maiden Heat during her inducement, as the Ministry required only one alpha per one omega. Hermione had already decided on defying the Ministry and going about her Maiden Heat on her own terms. She told Draco this, as well, and he smirked, offering the small cottage on his family’s estate for her use, as long as she promised to really shove it into the Ministry’s face, after the fact. 

 

“It all comes down to who agrees, and I’m not hopeful,” stated Hermione, closing her book after several hours of no progress, too involved in the conversation. “I’m not even certain if I want to ask anyone else. I just hope that Snape will agree to the potion to induce, at the very least.”

 

“Oh, he’ll provide you with the potion,” Draco was quick to reply. “Anything to stick it to the Ministry. It’s his response to the proposition that is fifty-fifty. I’ll try and bring him around to the idea, unless you say otherwise.” 

 

“Thank you, Draco,” said Hermione, soft and warm. She considered him for a moment, and couldn’t stop the idea from escaping her lips. “What if we just elope?” 

 

He laughed, shaking his head, “My mother would have your head if you denied her the chance to plan her only son’s wedding. Besides, what would have been the purpose of propositioning others?”

 

“I haven’t sent them, yet,” replied Hermione, nonchalantly. She was seriously considering the idea, then. Perhaps something would build from their close friendship? There was definitely some chemistry between them, even if it reared up when they were uninhibited and completely sloshed, but still. Why bother with the trouble of an elaborate plan to one up the Ministry, if Draco and she were compatible enough, willing enough, to do shove it to the Ministry together? “I was taking the day to decide if I wanted to go through with it.”

 

“Then don’t send them. If you’re not fully invested in the idea, it’s best to go with your instinct,” said Draco, matter of factly. He rubbed his face and shut his book, checking the time. “Orphans charity gala is tonight, were you planning on attending?”

 

Hermione looked surprised, “I forgot all about it, actually. Shite! I don’t have a gown!”

 

“Mum should have something we can transfigure for you,” offered Draco, tucking his book under his arm. He summoned his things, and was prepared to floo home when he stopped, looking back at her, “You’ll be my date tonight?”

 

“Sounds lovely,” smiled Hermione, a little less worried. She was relieved, shockingly. “We still have a lot to discuss.”

 

“Naturally,” smirked Draco, grabbing a pinch of floo powder. “I’ll talk to mum about the gown and accessories, and set up a guest room for you to get ready in. Just come through my study.”

 

“I can just get ready here -”

 

“If there’s a possibility that we’ll be shoving it in the Ministry’s face tonight, mum is going to want to deck you out, Granger,” leveled Draco, almost knowingly. “Grab your things, and just floo into my study. I’ll be waiting.” 

 

He winked, tossed in the pinch of powder, and stepped into the roar of green flames with practiced ease. 

  
  
  
  



	4. In Earnest...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions before the charity gala turn dark, and Severus Snape makes an appearance.

CHAPTER THREE 

IN EARNEST...

  
  


The gown was breathtaking.

 

An intricate, stunning long sleeve applique beaded ball gown that magically cinched to accentuate her curves in a smooth, flattering line. The embroidered bodice flared out at the middle of her waist in fluttering folds of champagne tulle, the lace and pearl embellishments of florals and vines tapering off mid skirts, the rich color floating about her legs to kiss the floor. The neckline grazed her throat, jeweled, and as intricate as the sleeves. There were hints of gold, silver, and dove gray in the embroidery, encrusted with pearls of aged ivory and dusted with gold. It was the most extravagant thing she had ever worn in her life, and it was beautiful. 

 

It had originally been created in hues of gray, but once it was fitted onto Hermione, the Malfoy matriarch began quite the elaborate spellwork to alter every minute detail to flatter the omega’s flawless complexion. Narcissa had also assisted Hermione in applying complementary makeup, styling her hair in subtle, glossy waves, and then accessorizing her with a beaded leaf headband, angled perfectly in her hair. With a gentle wave of her wand, Narcissa’s magic swirled around Hermione, setting the hair, pinning the headband, and protecting the dress from any spills or tears, and then left the younger witch with a warm, motherly smile. 

 

“Please, join us in the library when you’re ready, dear,” was all Narcissa said. 

 

It had all taken under an hour to Hermione’s astonishment. The cushioning and non-slip charms on the paired heels were a blessing, as she took care to traverse the manor down to the main library on the first floor. She couldn’t imagine being a muggle and attempting to glide over the polished marble and parquet floors in the custom-made stilettos Narcissa fancied so much for balls and galas. As it were, Hermione’s posture had been forced to shift significantly to compensate, despite her own collection of 3 inch department store heels for work. Although, she managed to stay off her feet most of the day, and always kept a pair of flats under her desk in case she needed to make the journey across the bank and up to the Head Financier’s office. 

 

Narcissa’s heels were the same 3 inches, yet they seemed much higher, but thankfully, as she entered the library, Draco offered her an arm to lean on as she greeted Lucius, and, surprisingly, a very youthful looking Severus Snape. Despite his invigorated appearance, certain aspects of his personality stayed firm against time, as he remained restrained and stiff in his acknowledgement. She was finally allowed to take a seat on the chaise lounge next to Narcissa, as the pleasantries segued into politics, marriage, and loopholes. 

 

“I requested Severus join us before the festivities to discuss the matters at hand. Apparently, the Ministry spent quite an exorbitant amount of time closing any and all a possible loophole,” explained Lucius, with a nod to Snape. “There really is nothing to do be done to get out of it, but there may be a way around the immediacy of marriage, and the omega work initiative.”

 

Draco and Hermione shared a look, intrigued and bordering hopeful. There may be no way out of alphas and omegas being forced to marry and mate, but if there was a possibility for Hermione to keep her job, there may actually be some hope for the future - some small independency she could cling to as her own. Of course, Draco beat Hermione to the chase, posing the question to Snape to elaborate. 

 

“The laws do not indicate one way or another regarding pureblood traditions,” said Snape, curt and precise around the lip of his own crystal tumbler of aged whiskey. His voice was as much changed as his appearance, and all the different, yet same, for it. Where once he held captive many a student with the low, tempered baritone of his voice, it now held an aspect to it that caught Hermione off guard. She had been expecting his voice to be the same as she remembered, deep and smooth, but that wasn’t the case, at all. No, it was much the same baritone, but it sounded rough around the edges, like gravel. Or, perhaps, as though he had spent quite a lot of time drinking heavily and smoking no more than three packs of cigarettes a day, but she forced herself to focus. “I believe most pureblood families will have identified this loophole, and will be exploiting it to allow newlyweds time to adjust to their prospects. The loophole will allow up to a year to continue working, as well plan the wedding, travel, set up homes, and plan for the...inevitable children.” 

 

“I could possibly continue working for up to a year?” asked Hermione, eyes glittering with the information. “And that also allows a year to get pregnant?”

 

“Yes, dear,” answered Narcissa, a warm smile on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Up to a year, and with any luck, most of the laws will be overturned.”

 

“Except for the omegas being forced into Maiden Heats,” Snape interjected, a look of disdain lacing his usually indifferent features. “There are ways to prevent conception during the periodic heats, undetectable by the Ministry, but Maiden Heats are entirely different. Nothing will prevent a pregnancy during the initial heat.” 

 

At that, Hermione’s eagerness fell, and Snape wasn’t the only one to notice. Draco, Lucius and Narcissa also caught the slight downturn at the corners of her mouth, and the disappearance of vibrancy in her eyes. Draco hadn’t told them everything, it seemed, but she knew when she was caught out. She had known Lucius and Narcissa long enough now to see when they understood, innately knew something without it being explained, and Snape had always been sharp to catch any minute shift in anyone or anything. 

 

Draco was the same way, and Hermione had always found it agreeable. It made conversations easier, and there were never pauses to explain or go into detail. They were all well read, highly educated, and versed conversationalists, which appealed to Hermione’s intellect when it came to debating philosophy, politics, or history. Now, it felt as though something too intimate had been discovered, and it made her slightly uncomfortable. 

 

“A delicate subject,” Narcissa said quietly, in an attempt to break the tension. “Hermione, dear, we can consult with Severus. He may know of something obscure that could prevent it, and we’re all aware that he’s the epitome of discretion.” 

 

Hermione shook her head, collecting her thoughts and schooling her features. It wouldn’t do to smudge her makeup. “No, it’s perfectly alright. It’s a bit much to take in… What if I do conceive during my Maiden Heat? Obviously the wedding will be rushed, but will I still be eligible to work for that transitional year?”

 

“Unfortunately, no,” answered Lucius, taking the lead in the conversation, as Snape seemed a touch uncomfortable about the subject. “Although, there is nothing preventing omegas from running charities, or other philanthropic agendas. There is also research, tutoring, organizing fundraisers and debutante balls. Not your typical field of interest, Hermione, but such platforms would offer you quite a bit of influence. Even pregnant, the Ministry would not be able to dictate how you spend your time.”

 

“It could work,” offered Draco with a dignified quirk of his eyebrow. “As I said before, I am willing, but only if you are.” 

 

Hermione nodded, taking a moment to consider her options with all the facts and information in front of her, but also weighing the way she felt about Draco compared to her other possible suitors. They had become close friends over the years. There was a spark; a small, mutual attraction. They enjoyed intellectual debates, reading together, and muggle nightlife. They drank together, smoked together, and danced together. He could offer her more than anyone else, but that was a lesser item on her list. It wasn’t as important as chemistry, or intellect. 

 

The most important question was if she could see herself spending the rest of her life with him, happily - or, at least, in companionable ease. 

 

“Yes,” Hermione answered, realizing that she could see herself being comfortable with Draco Malfoy for their considerably long lives. He was right, it could work.They were both tenacious enough to make it work. “There’s no one else that I’m more comfortable with, and I can admit that we do have a certain...chemistry. I can’t think of any alpha that I trust so implicitly. So, yes. I accept, or propose.”

 

“Way to win a wizard’s heart, Granger,” smirked Draco, emptying his own tumbler of expensive Scottish whiskey. “Now brace yourself for the wave of wedding planning my mother indoubtedly has instore for you.”

 

“Oh, Draco, I am not a tyrant,” said Narcissa, patting Hermione’s hand. “Hermione and I have managed to collaborate together numerous times without incident. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

 

They all enjoyed a bout of lighthearted laughter, and a somewhat forced harrumph from Snape, before drifting into other related subjects. The topic turned to how much space should be purchased for a formal announcement in the Daily Prophet, which heirloom ring would Hermione prefer, if there was a preference on whether to make an informal announcement at the beginning or end of the evening. A houself appeared with an array of Malfoy family heirlooms, of which a few Lucius and Narcissa had to set aside to be thoroughly cleansed of dark magic and other nasty curses against muggleborns. There were apologies, even though following the war Narcissa had sent all the jewels and heirlooms off to Gringotts for curse breaking. They were all fairly certain the few rings would not harm her, but Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa all agreed to err on the side of caution. 

 

In the end, Hermione - at the assurance of all the Malfoys, and an impeccably arched eyebrow from Snape - selected an elven wrought diamond and ruby starburst ring. It was small, and relatively simple. It wasn’t ostentatious, or too extravagant. It suited her, and when Draco slipped it onto her finger, it fit perfectly. She felt no regret, no sense of foreboding, simply a spark of hope for the future. Everything felt as though it was starting to slip into place, as if there were a silver lining to be found after all, under all of the garbage the Ministry was heaping onto society. It was easy to feel optimistic, even as the guests started to arrive. 

 

“Miss Granger,” rasped Snape, still standing at the fireplace as everyone else began drifting out to the foyer. Hearing him speak so quietly, almost a murmur to the flames, sent a wayward shiver down her spine. “A word, please.” 

 

Draco whispered into her ear, “I had a feeling he might want to talk alone. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine, Granger. I’ll wait for you in the foyer.” 

 

He gave her smirk, nodded to his godfather, and closed the doors behind him to give them privacy. Hermione, though, was at a loss as to why Snape would need to speak with her alone, let alone for what reason. The last time she had spoken to him, it was during the Battle of Hogwarts, as Harry, Ron, and she were leaving, after the man had poured his memories into a phial for Harry to view. She had sworn then that he couldn’t have been dead, even as his obsidian eyes grew dull and unblinking, and his breathing stopped completely. She had stopped to hold his hand, and whispered a choking apology, but there had been that nagging thought in the back of her mind that it couldn’t have been the end of Severus Snape, not then. Somewhere, somehow, she had known that he wasn’t truly dead. He couldn’t have been, and she had refused to believe it. 

 

Of course, that was far too long ago, and inconsequential considering he was very much alive, and standing before her, the reflection of flames flickering in the fluid abyss of his dark eyes as he gazed into the fire with visible restraint. It was as though he were fighting to maintain his air of indifference and strict professionalism. 

 

Watching him, and waiting, Hermione hardly noticed when he handed her a tumbler of Odgen’s finest, with one cube of ice, instead of three. That caught her attention, as there was no possible way for him to know how she preferred her whiskey. The notion caused her to clench her occlumency barriers more tightly into place, as if he could possibly hear her thoughts without any form of eye contact. Then again, she was alone in a room with Severus Snape, and it had been almost a decade since he had, obviously almost died. He’d remained a recluse for so long, who knew what he could do now without effort. 

 

Downing the whiskey in one gulp, Hermione finally broke the silence, “Is there a specific reason you needed to speak with me?”

 

He cleared his throat, nodding curtly, again, and eventually turning to face her, eyes burning liquid onyx that were failing to hide the fact that something was wrong, or not quite right, “Apologies, Miss Granger -”

 

“Hermione,” she blurted, unable to control herself in his presence, especially when confronted with actual proof of his existence, as well as the fact that he still wore the restrictive chin to shin frock. Yes, it was slightly more upscale than his black teaching frock, but still, it was far too similar. It involuntarily brought out the know-it-all in her that still desperately wanted his approval, wanted to please him. Yet, she refused to flinch or show remorse for her outburst. She simply offered him a ghost of a smile and elaborated. “We’re adults. Please, call me Hermione.” 

 

“Hermione, yes,” he replied, more clearly, less a rasp, but still an edge of gravel to his voice that just didn’t sound right compared to what she remembered from her school days. Alas, she had to digress and focus on the impending conversation. “I apologize, I was not expecting… Your scent…”

 

It was slightly embarrassing, her scent being brought up. At first, she wondered if she was wafting an offensive odor, but how could she? The moment she had walked through the floo into Draco’s study, Narcissa had been there to whisk her away to a suite down the hall. There had been a house elf with a hot bath waiting, infused with essential oils that she could still smell on her hair and skin. Then she realized that she was only a few days overdue for her suppressant potion, but she had always been adamant to be a day or two early taking it, for years. That, combined with the knowledge that her hormones were most likely about to go into overdrive, was what finally dawned on her, in that moment. She hadn’t even thought to mask her glands for the night, so encompassed in the delicately scented oils from her bath, and the mist of perfume Narcissa had enveloped her in after drying. 

 

Lifting her arm, Hermione sniffed the inside of her wrist, but found not even a faint essence of her unique omega scent. She could detect the undertones of citrus from the bath oils, and the floral high notes of Narcissa’s perfume, but she could not detect the very Hermione-esque smell of bergamia, and the subtle sweetness of alyssum and honeysuckle. What she could differentiate, was the soft smell of cool musk and fresh laundry with a hint of eucalyptus of Draco, a touch of magnolia that signified Narcissa, and the winter pine of Lucius. Over all of that, she could smell Snape as he moved closer, and his scent was all too different from what she could recollect. He used to smell of potions ingredients, parchment and leather, but now those were playing underneath an overwhelming spice that was both saccharine, as well as...something else. 

 

“Indian summer,” whispered Hermione, more to herself, but it was the thought that came to mind. His alpha scent was akin to wild saffron and sumac, but also with the heavy musk of impending rut. It was distinct, despite having avoided being in the presence of any alpha close to a rut, but it was there, and as an omega, she could identify it by the way that musk spread warmly through her sinuses, clouding her mind with sensations like the best drugs, and igniting her with a deep seeded need that promised to leave her limp and sated, if only she would just give in. “Oh, Merlin…”

 

It wasn’t the same as with Draco. Under the influence of top grade pot, far too much drink, and the haze of dancing, it was like coming up for air, his scent. He had never smelled of impending rut, though. He was always secluded during that time to prevent any untoward advances on Blaise and Hermione. She doubted he would, but he was very adamant that he was a Malfoy, and, as such, refused to be thought of as ill-mannered. Yet, his normal alpha scent had always lured her in for drunken snogging - like a gravitational pull - fluttering over her senses like a cool spring breeze, and then they would wake in the mornings, groggy and hungover, knowing that nothing further had occurred. There was a security about Draco, a foundation of trust built up over the years, as well as a deeply rooted attraction from their school years that both or neither had desired to reveal. Since the war they had always seemed to dance around each other, balancing on a fine line, but never taking risks that could shatter what had started out as a fragile friendship. 

 

This was different. 

 

Snape was an unknown factor that went against reason. Yes, she had considered him as a potential mate that morning, and a small part of her was still considering the possibility, but he was still unfamiliar from what she remembered. It was obvious he had masked his scent during his teaching years, sanitizing himself of any trace of alpha on his person in order to maintain a high level of professionalism and maintain his required distance from the student body. Now, he was mostly a stranger, and she was regretting the close proximity with him. Despite the overt spaciousness of the library, being alone with her former professor was becoming far too intimate for comfort. 

 

Taking a step back, Hermione shook the effects of alpha and rut from her mind and focused on fixing herself another drink. She needed to clear her head, and the smell was far too seductive. She wondered, briefly, if it would be like this when she was on the verge of Maiden Heat and Draco was following in rut? Perhaps it would be slightly different, but similar? Was scent going to become an intoxicating, influential issue for her life for the next forty years? How much control could an alpha hold over her with a binding mark in the mix? 

 

Would she even be Hermione once it was all said and done with? 

 

“I apologize, Miss Gr - Hermione,” offered Snape, his voice a low, desperate rasp. He, too, had taken a step back, both of them fighting to regain their composure. She understood what he meant about her scent. They both needed the distance, and it seemed he was just as unnerved by the influence of her omega as she was regarding the influence of his alpha. “I have remained a recluse for so long that I had forgotten how  _ overpowering _ the omega presence proved to be.”

 

Downing another tumbler of whiskey, Hermione nodded in agreement, “If I had been thinking, I would have masked my glands before coming down. It isn’t entirely your fault. If anything, the Ministry ban of masking agents and suppressants is mostly to blame.” 

 

“Yes, but I do apologize,” Snape remained adamant, swirling his own whiskey about his tumbler. “I should have exercised more restraint.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” replied Hermione, fixing herself a glass of water next. “I’m uncertain how much Draco has divulged you over the years, but I’ve -”

 

“He mentioned that you’ve avoided alphas, at least in close proximity, since the war,” he finished for her, raising an elegantly arched eyebrow at her sheepish expression. “I can understand the reasoning. Omegas make up an extremely small percentage of wizarding population, which relates to why we are now in this legislative nightmare. Omegas are bordering rare, and alphas can be overly aggressive. Add rut into the conversation, and omegas are in more danger of being force bonded and marked on a whim. Biological imperative is not an excuse to act like a rabid animal.”

 

“I appreciate your restraint, but I have a sneaking suspicion that we’ve traveled rather far off point,” said Hermione, seating herself on the chaise lounge and watching Snape’s conflicting emotions play out behind his mask of indifference. “Did Draco mention our discussion this morning about potential mates? Or is this conversation to be something entirely unrelated to the current political climate?” 

 

Snape paused, eyebrow still arched in question as he took a moment to truly take her in. Dark eyes started at the crown of her head and moved down to the toes of her heels, then up again, and with interest. Hermione wondered how odd it must be for him to suddenly realize that she was a naive schoolgirl no longer, but a more laid back, educated and intelligent woman that had finally grown into her looks and the awkwardness of her adolescent body. She was no longer the uptight Prefect that stressed over her studies, but a witch of certain influence that had started to mellow with age. She was less rigid about things, more relaxed and easy going, less desperate for approval, because she had finally learned to stop caring so much. She was nothing like the Hermione Granger that he remembered, and she found that quite amusing. 

 

“Draco mentioned you had been contemplating potential mates, yes,” Snape finally spoke, forcing himself to pull his gaze away from her and back to the flames playing in the fireplace. “I was taken aback that you would consider me, but that is irrelevant now, considering…”

 

“Considering?” asked Hermione, still slightly amused at the way Snape was choosing to broach the subject. “I believe the laws are quite clear that female omegas are required to mate with a minimum of one alpha, maximum of two. I’m not sure why you feel that shyness is the best approach, but it is very unbecoming on you, in my opinion. You owe me nothing, and I the same. We’re both adults, both professionals, and this is a very...unique situation. If you have a proposal, or would like to discuss one, I’m all ears…  _ Severus. _ ”

 

It must be the whiskey going straight to her head, because she was enjoying this far too much. Especially the way Snape’s cheeks burned deep red with embarrassment and indignation, but he was restraining himself quite admirably. She really shouldn’t poke him, but, at the moment, she was in a much changed mood from that morning, and she couldn’t possibly pass up the chance. She wondered if she should broach the subject of a test spin or appraisal while the opportunity was presenting itself. 

 

“I beg pardon,” Snape fumed, tone turning cutting and fierce. It didn’t take much intelligence to make out that he had managed to skim her thoughts while she was running mental commentary. From the look on his face, and the deadly glare burning in his eyes, Hermione was more than certain requesting to, ‘view the goods,’ would go over as well as dinner with a blast-ended skrewt. His expression darkened visibly at that thought, too. “I will not drop trou for you to appraise me like chattel, Miss Granger. I would expect you, above others, to find such behaviour appalling for both sexes and designations -”

 

He was drowned out by the suddenness of Hermione bursting into giggles and snorts, almost choking on her water, as that day’s conversation with Draco came full force to the front of her mind. It was almost word for word what Draco suspected Snape’s response to be in regards to the idea presented that morning. Oh, she would definitely be telling Draco later. 

 

“-and I believe you would be  _ thoroughly  _ satisfied with the end result - STOP LAUGHING, MISS GRANGER!”

 

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, a little too high pitched as she attempted to stifle her giggles. Clearing her throat, she forced down her mirth and tried to appear repentant. “Sorry, please… Proceed with the… proposal?”

 

He continued to glare, not impressed with her inability to compose herself during and following his tirade. “I will get to the point, then.” 

 

He sighed, nostrils flaring, “As you stated, the law is clear on the minimum to maximum of alphas per female omega. I have no interest in being part of this legislative sham, but I am a Slytherin, Miss Granger. I am not above exploiting something to benefit myself, if it is in my best interest.”

 

It was Hermione’s turn to raise an elegantly arched eyebrow in mock of him, “You’ve never propositioned a women in your life, have you?”

 

“I’ve had no desire to in recent years, Miss Granger,” he scoffed darkly. “I had no reason to beg for scrapes. Women were more than happy to do the begging.”

 

That was interesting. 

 

“Well, I apologize,” said Hermione, not bothering to hide her amusement. “Please, continue.”

 

“Bloody wanking hell,” he gruffed, put off by her mirth over the entire situation. “Before you came down, Draco mentioned that you had discussed my person as a possible heat mate - I will say this once, Miss Granger, and this once only. I have no intention of being bound for the rest of my life to anyone. Not again. Yet… I find myself in the situation to where it is paramount - against my better nature - to ask of you to consider this as a proposal for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Of course,” was Hermione’s answer. Simple and to the point. “I accept.”

 

He looked baffled for a moment, as if he had assumed she would immediately turn him down, but then he smirked, a sly, snarky grin that she remembered well. Although, this was less vindictive than what she was used to from him, and more openly benevolent. It was odd, considering the lack of frown lines etched into his visage, and the healthy complexion of youth, and how that made a world of difference in his appearance. He was more relaxed, less seething in anger. He was still stiff and somewhat closed off, but there was a noticeable difference in him that was vaguely attractive. Not that she was entirely interested in a physical relationship with another alpha, as she was certain Draco was going to prove quite a handful, but there was a dark handsomeness about Snape that proved very appealing. 

 

“Very well, I shall submit the appropriate paperwork to the Ministry come Monday,” he said, scourgifying his crystal tumbler and setting it in its proper place on the bar stand. “I had also wanted to inquiry about your health over the years. I believe Draco eventually admitted that it was under my direction that the antidote for your condition was found?”

 

“Eventually,” she replied with a polite nod. “I haven’t experienced any of the… side effects… in years, if that is what you’re asking. Not since the trials after the war.”

He nodded, looking grim, and almost apologetic, “I apologize for bringing the subject up. I simply worry about the long term of it. You’re aware that the antidote was merely temporary. It is inevitable that the curse will resurface, and, I suspect, soon. I can continue brewing it for you, but I doubt the efficacy when not diluted by a hormone regulator. It’s unstable in raw form, at best.”

 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the weight of the entire world pushing her down. It was the one thing she refused to think about since the war, “If I were to become pregnant...”

 

“I’m aware,” he answered, grimly. He was just as worried as she, the only two people in the wizarding world who knew the complexities of the curse that was seared into her very being. They had not seen each other since the Battle of Hogwarts, but once he had regained his health, and marketed his own brews, it was inevitable that Hermione would seek out his expertise from what little Draco had imparted to her regarding the antidote that saved her life. “I can only assume that you have kept the information to yourself?”

 

“No one needed to know,” said Hermione, blinking away her frustration. “I didn’t think it would be an issue until the bloody laws banned the potions needed to stabilize the antidote.”

 

Snape exhaled deeply from deep in his chest, nostrils flaring, but his expression was that of concern, duty, and acute fear, “Draco will have to be told. If you do conceive, it will provide us the necessary vessel to siphon the curse into in which to destroy -”

 

“We’re discussing killing a child,” hissed Hermione, appalled by the suggestion. “A baby, Severus.”

 

He, also, looked extremely sickened by the notion, but he was also a man determined to cut the cancer, so to speak, before it had a chance to take root, “I have researched this curse extensively... _ It is the only way, Hermione. _ ”

 

“I don’t think I could go through with it, Severus,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him from the lounge through thick lashes. “Even if it is necessary.”

 

There was a long pause where they simply stared at each other, the seconds passing as hours and the silence building between them. She knew what he would say before he even formulated the thought, because what kind of man was he underneath the acerbic tongue and intense wit? Old habits died hard, as they say. 

 

“Then I will take the curse upon myself, and you will have to follow it through,” he said, and that was the end of it. “Draco must be told, at the very least.”

 

There was no use in arguing that his life meant more, and Hermione simply nodded, setting the issue aside for a later date, “Then it is settled on all accounts.”

 

“I suppose it is,” he answered, returning back to the stiff indifference he was most accustomed to in times of uncomfortability. “You may announce our impending nuptials as you see fit, but I would prefer to stay out of the public eyes as much as possible. It is time that I retire back to the comforts of my own home. I bid you goodnight, Hermione.”

 

And with that he was gone in a flash of green flames in the fire, while Hermione reset her makeup with a flick of her wand and slid into the ease of the carefree young woman she had grown at ease in. She let the burdens of the future, the finality of something on the horizon fall away, and smiled as she greeted Draco outside of the library. 

 

She didn’t have the heart to ruin his night.


	5. At the Stroke of Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The charity gala doesn't go as planned, but at least it ends with a surprise... Sort of.

CHAPTER FOUR

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT

  
  


The informal announcement was made before dinner started, a blinding cacophony of flashing lights, and then the night was spent dancing and mingling. Draco and Hermione, Lucius and Narcissa, swept across the dance floor to usher in the festivities. Harry and Ginny, who had managed to wrangle Ron and his wife into babysitting for the night in order to attend, were the first to join the hosts for a dance. Then came Neville and Susan, and Luna and Rolf, and then so many others that Hermione couldn’t possibly remember all their names. 

 

The ballroom was stunning, yet again. Narcissa was always outgoing herself in elegance and style. Everything was perfect and subtle, complementing the color scheme Narcissa had decided on months prior. The orchestra played beautifully, transitioning from Beethoven and Mozart to light pieces for the waltz and then through the ages up to the lively foxtrot. She danced with several people during the course of the evening, always rescued from the overpowering smell of outdated cologne and elderly alpha by Draco, the doting fiance. Then there had been an auction of favors, talents, and so on for the charity, as well. And at some point Hermione had been dragged on stage with the rest of the Malfoys to stand in unison behind Narcissa as she delivered a speech on the need to right the wrongs of the last decade by giving each orphaned child the love and security they needed, and the warmth of hearth and a the comfort they had so tragically been denied during the war, and after. 

 

As the night moved on to more dancing, more champagne, and more enlightening conversation, Hermione found herself in the arms of her fiance once more, and realizing she truly enjoyed every moment of it. 

 

Gliding over the dance floor, pulled close to Draco, was far more intimate than any night club in muggle London. There was no overwhelming musk of arousal and sweat lingering in the air, or the dozens of bodies pressed up together in a small space, or the heavy scent of scent blocker covering the majority of his scent. In the muggle world, they could be anyone they wanted to be, do anything they wanted to do, and there were no cameras to capture indiscretions or mishaps. There were no expectations burdening them in the dark clubs, but being among colleagues, peers, and former schoolmates was an entirely different situation.

 

They were recognized now, watched, and his masking cream was fading from the sensitizing eucalyptus to his natural alpha presence. In the sparkling lights of the chandeliers and parisian fairies, Draco’s eyes were stormy, diamond gray that glinted with genuine happiness, like moonlight playing through melting ice. There was a pureness in his smile, and his features were lit up in mirth. He had grown into his sharp angles and pinched face, filling out with muscle and weight after the war, and she had noticed some of it, years ago, how handsome he had become. He was healthy, and strong, with a hard body and sharp jaw - he was breathtakingly attractive. And whenever he looked at her there was that unadulterated joy and warmth that filled him, bringing his strongest features out into the light. 

 

How had she never recognized it before?

 

“Did Severus and you come to an agreement?” asked Draco, voice quiet as they danced in the center of the parquet floors. “He seemed interested in the possibility of a secondary marking, something dissolvable.”

 

Hermione offered a strained smile with a short nod, “Yes, we came to an agreement. It will be on-paper-only. I get the sense that if Snape were a beta, without any biological imperative, he would be perfectly content and happy to lead a very solitary life. His presence without buffers or further distance was… was extremely suffocating.” 

 

“Is there more?” asked Draco, eyes catching the unease in the rigidity of her shoulders and the tightness in the corners of her eyes. 

 

“There was another matter we needed to discuss, as it happens,” admitted Hermione, letting go of a deep breath and trying to relax, enjoy the night. She even reached up to cup Draco’s pale cheek, “We can discuss it tomorrow. Let’s not ruin our night, hm?”

 

“If you insist,” he replied, mischievous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he bowed his head down to brush his lips over the shell of her ear. His hot breath slid over the exposed skin of her glands, at the juncture where her slender neck met her refined shoulder, and she felt another rush of warmth flush her face, and a jolt of arousal burst to life again. “It’s becoming more difficult to let you go, smelling like you do tonight.”

 

“Snape also mentioned that he could smell my heat coming,” her breath came out in a puff as she laughed. It was stronger than she remembered, and more earthy. There was the spring breeze, but also crisp, clean rain and the damp earth of a thick forest, and something else. It was something so wonderful, so intune with who he truly was, that it overwhelmed all her senses and caused her omega instincts to react. Unlike Snape’s suffocating essence of indian summer and exotic spices that burned through her and left her unable to breathe, Draco’s was everything she imagined it could be, would be, and should be. She felt slightly drunk, or high, or both just from the evening, itself. “I forgot to put more cream on my neck.”

 

Draco’s knuckles brushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, his voice hushed and worried, “Are you feeling well?”

 

“A little warm, and drunk, I think,” smiled Hermione, unaware that she had leaned in further to press her nose into his neck. “I should have stopped at one drink.”

 

There was a shift in the air, a sudden quietness and shuffling of feet, and the sharp tap of Lucius’ cane hitting the mosaic hardwood as he moved through the crowds effectively. Then there was Harry and Ginny, strange and unwelcome at the moment, as their scents mingled unpleasantly with Draco. She was vaguely aware that she was giggling girlishly, and acting unusually for herself. In the back of her mind, her omega instincts were whispering through, wanting to be left alone with her alpha -

 

_ Her alpha?  _

 

Lucius’ voice floated in the back of her mind, like listening to people talk underwater, “I agree with Mr. Potter. Something must have triggered the start of the fever. The entire ballroom is filling with...It would not do well to keep her here, Draco. Take her to the guest house, and ward it. Narcissa will have the necessary amenities sent with Tibby.”

 

“Mmmm,” hummed Hermione, the champagne fizzing through her brain on a breeze of Draco’s alpha and her own unearthed giddiness that was shattering through the surface. Her head had slumped, resting against Draco’s shoulder as she swayed to and fro on the dangerous precipice of her heels. “Just one more dance. Please?”

 

Draco tensed against her, a groan trapped in his throat, “How about a tepid bath, instead?”

 

“Only if you join me,” Hermione laughed, letting Draco hold her tight to him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with your shirt off.”

 

“I think,” said Ginny, always the voice of reason since she became a mother, “I think it would be in her best interest to get some rest.”

 

“And check her diagnostics,” added Harry, in his very serious Auror voice that sent Hermione into another fit of giggles. “Make sure she wasn’t slipped something, and where she is in the transition. I’ll make sure Gringotts is aware of the situation.”

 

“Thanks, Potter,” sighed Draco, shifting Hermione in his arms more securely, flush against his chest. He sounded as if showing gratitude to Harry was causing him physically pain. “I should get her to the guest house.” 

 

“Hermione-” Harry started, but his voice was stayed by Ginny’s reasoning, “Harry, she’s in good hands. We should be going, anyway. There will be time to check in on her tomorrow, alright?”

 

Hermione felt Draco’s cool fingers brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, slyly checking her temperature as he bid everyone within hearing distance a farewell, just as the clock struck midnight. Then there was the tight compression of Apparation that made her skin itch and stomach twist. Then, suddenly, there were no competing scents, no bright lights or the sound of a string orchestra. There was nothing but the the chill of the guest house, and the instantaneous need to vomit. 

 

This wasn’t right, though. 

 

“I’ve got you,” Draco said hurried, holding her up as she stumbled in the direction of a blurry doorway, hoping there was a loo inside. He steered her in a different direction and to a pristine commode. “That’s the closet. Come on, Granger. Easy.”

 

Draco slowed her down as she collapsed to her knees and emptied her stomach into the cleanest porcelain she had ever noticed in a wasted state. He even twisted her hair against the nape of her neck, speaking encouraging words softly, while he rubbed circles over her back. They were words meant to make her feel better, but honestly she was starting to feel absolutely wretched. 

 

The faint breeze of magic flitted over her skin, lighting up the bathroom. Hermione would have looked over her shoulder to read the diagnostics with Draco, but another wave of nausea hit her, and there was no way she was going to vomit all over him, or the expensive gown Narcissa had loaned her for the night. She may not have all her faculties at the moment, but she was aware enough to keep her face pointedly in the toilet bowl. She would never live it down if she ruined one of Narcissa’s prized pieces. 

 

“Was Severus in rut?” asked Draco, attempting a neutral tone and failing. It was obvious he was slightly horrified, and extremely worried. “Granger?”

 

All she could do was nod, unable to speak while she was heaving. 

 

“Well, that would have triggered the fever,” he sighed, reaching around to smooth back the hair sticking to her flushed, sweaty face. “Nothing was slipped in your drinks, though. Thank Merlin for small favors.”

 

Hermione groaned, resting her forehead on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat after what seemed like hours of purging every last drop of champagne she had drank during the night. They sat there in silence, Hermione panting and groaning, while Draco simply continued to rub her back, waiting for her to be truly finished. At some point, he had flicked his wand and the tub began filling with scalding hot water, sans the scented oils. Instead, thick mountains of bubbles joined the steaming water, wafting the gentle fragrance of sweet honey and shea. It didn’t sting the nose like tea tree or eucalyptus, or overwhelm the senses like lavender. It was simple, subtle, and comforting. 

 

“Gods, get me out of this dress,” whined Hermione, scratching at her feverish flesh as she shivered against the chilled air. Her own body was beginning to feel not her own, but different. Her skin was too warm, clammy, and itchy. She felt the roots of her hair shifting with every aching, sluggish movement. The way she heard the rustling of clothes as Draco stripped out of his evening wear, and the way she experienced her clothes vanishing, instantly replaced by the airiest, softest shift she had ever worn in her life - everything was becoming amplified. It was as if she was becoming hypersensitive to her environment, and it was the most uncomfortable experience, barring the Cruciatus under Bellatrix’s wand. 

 

She shouldn’t be this close to heat so soon. Had being close to an alpha in rut sped up the transition? Had she really done this to herself? All because of a conversation with Snape at the wrong time. Was that it? Simply coincidence of wrong place, wrong time? Or had she been on the edge of her Maiden Heat since missing her monthly dose of suppressants? It was so hard to think clearly when an alpha was touching her, lifting her, carrying her across the room. 

 

Draco hissed behind her as he stepped into the bath, and she realized that he planned on staying with her despite witnessing her at her most vulnerable, sweaty and vomiting. It was something no woman planned on sharing with their… husband to be. Not at least until sometime after the wedding, Hermione guessed. Of course, most engaged couples hadn’t been strictly friends for close to a decade before deciding to get married and mark each other. Well, betas were not burdened with primal instincts and biological imperatives, which meant they were safe from the new initiatives forcing alphas and omegas together for reproduction. 

 

Besides, Draco and Hermione had crossed the lines, briefly, during their drunken escapades. They hadn’t actually seen each other fully naked, as of yet, and it seemed as though Draco was, at least, walking the line of propriety for the time being in an attempt to preserve some dignity between them. She vaguely appreciated it, in the rational part of her brain.

 

A cooling charm rippled over the bath water as Draco steadily sat down in the tub. Hermione shivered against him, and then relaxed as he leaned into the sloping incline. The now tepid water and foamy bubbles kissed along her jaw, and lapped at her clavicle. The water enveloped her in distraction, and she sighed as Draco began to wet her hair, working the same honey scented product through her locks. 

 

“That would be Tibby,” murmured Draco at the sound of a soft pop. Hermione didn’t even crack any eye, letting the pale alpha’s fingers massage her scalp and silence the roar of a million questions running through her mind. “Mum should be popping in after the gala.”

 

“Ever the perfect hostess,” hummed Hermione, allowing herself to become pliable under Draco’s ministrations through her hair. “She’ll have everyone forgetting about the scene I made.”

 

“And the photographs confiscated,” chuckled Draco, deep and low in his chest. “Just think about the arguments you’ll both get into over wedding details, or… Merlin, children… Hopefully, that’s a ways off. I don’t know about you, Granger, but I don’t feel quite old enough to be raising children.”

 

Hermione’s face pinched instantly when reminded of the possibility of children, and what that meant, “I almost forgot about having children. It seems like an inevitability, instead of something that might happen.”

 

“We’ll figure something out for the Heat,” said Draco, so encouraging and tender that it was hard to rationalize the mature version of him versus the schoolboy prat. And he still had no idea about the true nature of the curse. “He managed to save you on his deathbed. I have faith he’ll pull off another off the wall idea. It’s what he does best.”

 

Hermione sighed, letting Draco finish rinsing the suds from her hair, while she stared out of the window. She wondered when she should tell him, or how she could possibly explain the devastating complexities of the curse set on her by the burning corpse of the Dark Lord - the wizard’s final checkmate against Death, itself. It had taken Hermione several months to understand the deepest levels in which the curse worked; how it infected the receiving host, why omega females were the best vessel in which to utilize and incubate, what its main purpose was specifically for. In all honesty, she would have to give Draco the simplified version and let him do the digging for more information on his own. 

 

Of course, Hermione waited until the bath water turned cold, both dried off and clothed, to broach the subject, and guiltily explain the horrible reality to Draco...

 


	6. Burning from the Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no stopping the inevitable...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, the end took a dark turn, and I understand if you hate me for it. 
> 
> Scout's honor, I promise it is NOT Snape.

CHAPTER FIVE

BURNING FROM THE INSIDE OUT

  
  


Hermione spent the following days burrowed in a nest of plush pillows and luxurious sheets, sweating until she soaked the bed repeatedly as the fever grew steadily worse. 

 

Narcissa and Tibby were her only companions during that time, as the hours and days passed in increasing agony. The Malfoy matriarch spent the days at her bedside, dabbing a cool cloth to Hermione’s forehead, neck, and chest, explaining softly what to expect, that what she was feeling was perfectly normal, and that the fever pain would end soon. Hermione was out of it during that time, barely following anything Narcissa said, but she appreciated the sentiment of one omega supporting another during such a transitional time. 

 

Vaguely, Hermione recognized that everything Narcissa was telling her was authentic and brutally honest, in the most articulate way possible. It was not the standard information that the textbooks and pamphlets offered, glossy over the details and romanticizing the experience as one of the most beautiful, spiritual moments of an omega’s life. 

 

Well, Hermione was not feeling beautiful, or spiritual, or embraced by the glowing warmth of womanhood, and those pamphlets could bloody well fuck off. Her blood felt as though it had been boiling for days, her head was throbbing, it seemed as though her pelvis had shattered only to piece itself back together again, her skin was so sensitive that even the most luxurious, softest sheets felt like starched linen lined with barbed wire, and on top of that no one had heard from Draco since he had stormed out the night of the gala. He had Disapparated abruptly after she had told him the simplified version about the curse, the issue with the antidote due to the ban on suppressants and birth control, and the inevitability that she would conceive for a specific reason. 

 

Draco had been surprised...

 

_ “You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re pulling one over...” _

 

_ “You’re telling me this now? Now?!”  _

 

_ “Reincarnation…”  _

 

_ “I understand exactly what you’re saying, Granger! A baby! Killing a baby! Our baby! How can you even consider that a viable option?”  _

 

_ “No, you’re not going to the Ministry and telling them about this - Fuck-all! They’ll bury you in Azkaban! Or The Department of Mysteries! They’ll literally dissect you to figure out the curse! No, it’s out of the question. No one else can know, Granger. No one.”  _

 

_ “Like bloody hell Severus is sacrificing himself! Over my bloody dead body!”  _

 

_ “Three brains working on a solution is better than one, or none. We will find a way - There has to be another way!”  _

 

_ “I refuse to let anything happen to you, Granger… I’ve waited for you too long to let go of you now...”  _

 

Then he was gone, a solemn look upon his face as he disappeared with a formidable crack. 

 

At the time, and the following days, Hermione had played over that conversation over and over in the haze of a fever induced delirium. When she did conceive, the baby would be male, and the Dark Lord reincarnated, with a complete, unmarred soul and a fresh start to finish what he had failed to accomplish twice so far. The difficult part had been explaining that the curse was an ancient form of a horcrux - the first iteration. Hermione was, essentially, living with the last, toxic piece of Voldemort’s soul, and there was no possible way to extract it without another living host for it to take over. As Hermione progressed with the inevitable pregnancy, the baby would have already been infected, and the Dark Lord would gestate, taking over the further along she became. How anyone thought it would be simple to siphon the soul out was beyond her ability to rationalize. 

 

If only she could think clearly for just a moment. 

 

Something horrible had been clawing to the surface for days, and it felt as though she were at the precipice, at the end of the agony, but she knew there was something awful that came after the transitional period that altered her body permanently. After the fever stage, came the all encompassing arousal. Primal instincts would take over, and she would become nothing more than a raw nerve of desperation and need. There would be nothing remaining of her true self during that time. She would be Omega, and the reason for heat would control her viciously.

A week had passed, Draco had not come to her, and Hermione was unable to control her emotions. 

 

It became apparent when she had entered the second stage, the blinding, uninhibited arousal, by the way Hermione would lash out, snapping at Narcissa and Tibby, both, over nothing. The absence of a dominating alpha presence had started to turn inward, and Hermione’s hormone driven body was overcompensating to balance out, becoming more aggressive the longer she without the one thing she craved, needed. Throwing herself against the walls, ripping sheets and pillows to shreds, trying to escape and find an alpha - any alpha would do. It grew to be too much for Narcissa and Tibby to handle, and the younger omega had to be restrained.

 

Narcissa had started to worry, and her worry caused Hermione great distress. 

 

Hours were spent alternating between violent magical outbursts and uncontrollable sobbing. There was never a plateau, a medium, a middle ground between the two extremes. It was one or the other, never both, and not at all manageable by anyone. Even Lucius had stood in the doorway, trying to calm Hermione down from one of said tantrums, and the glass panes in the windows had exploded inward to attack the matured alpha. 

 

She had been promptly moved to a windowless room, after that. 

 

What omega would blame her for reacting that way? 

 

Yes, the alpha scent should have calmed her down, but it being a mated alpha, strongly punctuated by loving tones of Narcissa, was not what any unbonded omega wanted to smell during her first heat. Of course, she didn’t want Lucius. She didn’t want Narcissa or Tibby, either. 

 

Hermione wanted the soothing notes of Draco’s musk wrapped in his seldom released alpha aggression. She wanted the daring drunk that slammed her against walls while he snogged the shite out of her. She wanted his large hands digging bruises into her arse, and his teeth sinking down into her neck. 

 

She wanted  _ her alpha _ …

 

“Draco is in no condition to help her,” hissed Narcissa from the hallway, during one of Hermione’s rare lucid moments as her body began to shake with sobs. “You should have never allowed him to interrupt Severus’ rut - for whatever lie you wish to use. Severus bit him, Lucius. Beat him. It will be days before Draco is healed enough to manage his own rut.”

 

“I’m well aware of my lapse in judgement, darling,” drawled Lucius, annoyance and anger lacing his words. “I will do everything in my power to make this right with you, but think of Hermione! She has suppressed a virgin heat - the Maiden’s Heat - for far too long. She will go insane, harm herself, if a suitable alpha does not assist her. That is Draco, her alpha.” 

 

“He’s not well enough,” countered Narcissa, far too protective of her son. “Severus dislocated his shoulder, Lucius! He has broken ribs! How can you possibly think he can handle Hermione in the state she is in right now?”

 

There was a sigh, then a pause, and the Lucius finally replied, tone more caring and gentle than before, “Draco will be in full rut by morning, my love. We have mere hours heal him, as much as possible, before he will need to be at her side. As much as I am loathe to admit it, I admire the girl. I see her as family, already, and I will not see Draco lose his happiness. I learned my lesson when that reptilian bastard invaded our home. I will not see our family broken again.”

 

“Oh, Lucius,” whispered Narcissa. “You see it, as well? The two of them?”

 

“Mates,” answered Lucius, a sense of warmth and pride swelling in him that spread out through the halls, invading Hermione’s room and making her whimper as she cried into the sheets. “True mates.”

 

“They bring out the best and the worst in each other.”

 

“Just like us.”

 

Hermione started to wail, crying out for Draco all through the night as the searing pain flowed from between her legs to burn her nerve endings. Head throbbing, she screamed until she was hoarse, and still nothing could console her as the arousal only continued to grow in intensity. She thrashed about in her nest of goose down feathers and tattered sheets, in the bed soaked with her sweat and tears, unable to pull her wrists away from the bedposts. Not even her wild magic had managed to break Narcissa’s jinx, and the hours had never passed so slowly. 

 

There were no more lucid moments during the night, as the hallucinations began. 

 

Or, what she hoped were hallucinations, but she could care less, and she would never remember it when she surfaced. 

 

There were no visible signs of time passing in the windowless room. No sun streaming through curtains, no sounds of birds chirping or the breeze playing in the trees. Minutes could have passed, and it felt like an eternity. 

 

“Please,” Hermione begged into the darkness, still contorting her body to pull her wrists free from the oak frame. Her legs were raw from being rubbed together, desperate as she was for any kind of friction, and her muscles ached from arching, bowing, straining. “ _ Please… _ ”

 

She just wanted…

 

Just wanted…

 

_ Hello, mudblood… _

 

“No,” gasped Hermione, flinching away from the spectral fingers attempting to brush her cheek. “Not you… Not again…” 

 

She was sobbing quietly now, trying desperately to twist out of reach of the visitor’s touch. She had known he would come back with no antidote to bury him deep in her subconscious. She had hoped to never experience the acrid stench of decay that signalled his alpha, or the chilling sensation of his fingers ghosting over her body, ever again, but especially never during her first bloody heat. His cerebral touch was painful, as if he did it on purpose, and his mere presence sent her into distress. 

 

_ It was quite rude of you to ignore me for so long, Hermione. _

 

“No…Please,” she whimpered pathetically, her omega cringing at every touch, every hissed syllable dripping with contempt. 

 

_ I’m going to enjoy finally breaking you… _

 

“NOOOOOOOO!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Not so Fleeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns...

CHAPTER SIX

NOT SO FLEETING

Tom was gone, like smoke in the wind. His presence simply vanished, and the acrid smell of him was replaced by simple presence, commanding presence. All encompassing safety, and extreme warmth. There was that scent of spring, and country woods after a brief rain - nature in its purest form. Crisp, clean, untainted by eucalyptus.

She knew that scent, and she welcomed the security that came with it.

“Shhhh,” came that familiar voice, so welcome, warm, and…  _ loving  _ . Oh, the adoration and affection poured through the air, wrapped her up and cradled her close. “I’m here, Granger - Hermione… I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Hands. Real, living, human hands.

Draco had returned, and she was sobbing in relief, instead of fear. His touch was soothing, like a balm on her frayed nerves. It came with a sense of serenity that washed over her completely, settling deep into her very bones, protection against the unwanted.

The Unwanted. The  _ Other. _

Her brain was too deep in subspace, in the need to bury her nose into the crook of her alpha’s neck and breathe in his co-mingling rut, calm, and protective pheromones. She didn’t need aggression and a full assault of his rut hitting her olfactory senses in that moment, but Draco had attuned to her distress instantaneously upon entering her room. Perhaps, even before he had entered - outside the door, or down the hallway. There was no telling how far her distress had reached in the guest house.

Yet, Draco was there, at last. He came back, and that was all she cared about. She had known he would shout, perhaps storm out, but she had hoped that he would come back, and her omega was ready to preen that he still chose her, wanted her, was only for her.

Mates.

Hermione clung to him, sobbing violently in relief that had simply come back. She could smell instantly that he was in rut, but the soothing notes of his unique aroma, and the comfort he was wrapping her in tightly, was enough to overwhelm the senses. She fell into the chasm of his scent, pulling from it everything she needed to come down from her fear. Primal instinct to fight or flee was replaced by love, and deep down, somewhere in the swirling chaos of subspace, she recognized that, perhaps, just a small part of her loved him, in return. Perhaps she had loved him for a rather long time, but never realized it, or she had simply ignored it. She was rather proficient in burying her problems and refusing to acknowledge them. Not until it was impossible to do so any longer.

It was impossible to miss, and pheromones never lied.

Face pressed against the heat of his bare chest, Hermione slowly calmed and drifted into the realm of sleep that had escaped her for days, or something close to it, since she was still somewhat aware of what was happening. The desire, the incessant need that had driven her borderline insane, was pushed aside for the time being, as Draco cradled her close to himself, lifting her with ease. She had the vague sense that he had experienced another growth spurt since last they saw each other. His shoulders felt wider, his chest as well, and his arms felt larger - well, all of him felt larger. He felt like he was the size of a barn door, really. Or perhaps, built now like a brick shitehouse, wasn’t that the expression? He seemed a giant, pure brawn and undiluted masculinity, all muscle and strength rippling under a warm, sculpted surface.

Water.

Hot, oil infused water to combat the cold sweat that had drenched her for what seemed like hours, or days even. Draco simply held her there, against him, her face nuzzling his neck, as they settled into the steam and the oils. He just lapped the water over her skin, lightly caressing every inch of her, stroking his fingers down her back until she was thoroughly relaxed, and purring. All thoughts of the Other had been pushed from her mind, and her body melted against her alpha, allowing him to manoeuver her as he washed her, hair and limbs, and worked conditioner through her hair. He lavished her with gentleness, not bothering with words. No, everything he had to say was translated through his touch, the way he comforted and cared for her in those moments.

Omegas were hardwired, biologically, to always please alphas. Mate with alpha, bond with alpha, make alpha happy. Yet, no one spoke of the imperative of alphas, other than their aggression, assertiveness, and dominance. Alphas were always the epitome of strength in balance to the multifaceted nature of omegas. No one spoke about how alphas were biologically hardwired to please omegas. Both designations had varying personalities, magic, pheromones, but there would always be a uniquely matched pair, biology signaling that they were true mates.  It was in the balance, both designations meant to care for each other in equal measure.

As the time passed, Draco repeatedly warming the water and allowing her to slowly drift up out of subspace at her own pace. His pheromones were calming, washing away the last hours, or days, of debilitating fear, and pushing away all lingering thoughts of Tom, of what he wanted from her, that he was still alive, living somewhere inside of her, waiting. It was just Draco, and Hermione, relaxing back into each other after tension wrought time apart.

And she forgave him for leaving, because he did come back, not out of obligation, or guilt. She could smell it rolling off him, taste it in the air around him, feel it in the way he held her, and hear it in the way he whispered in her hair. He came back because he loved her. It was simple, and yet all encompassing, the love that radiated through him. She was clear headed enough to recognize that one fact, and how easily she could forgive him something she never forgave of Ron. It was due to the fact that Draco and Ron were vastly different, and their motivations for leaving, for returning, were entirely opposite in comparison.

Draco loved her, unconditionally.

Ron had simply felt guilt and shame.

Hermione melted into Draco’s touch, shivering as he poured the tepid water over her hair and began to massage an oily, viscous tincture through the manageable tangles of her shoulder length curls. Her scalped tingled from it, and the substance, itself, smelled floral, like the bath oils. There must have been something else in the tincture, something helping to push back the suffocating haze of Virgin Heat to draw out her consciousness from the depths of subspace. She was surfacing, if only for a little while, and it was enough for them both to touch on some topics before they were both lost to hormones, and pheromones.

When they were both clean, scents slightly dampened by the oils, Draco held her close to his chest, with her legs wrapped securely around his hips, and rose from the ivory tub. The water drained away quickly, and the thickest, softest towels floated through the bathroom to encompass them both, so invitingly warm, as if they had just been freshly laundered. Draco and Hermione were dried off in a matter of minutes, except their hair, which remained somewhat damp.

A tray hovered near the bed, carrying a pitcher of water and two glasses, as well as a litany of potions. The blankets, mattress and sheets had been replaced, everything neatly folded at the end of the bed, while Hermione’s nest was no longer. Food had been laid out on one of the larger tables, showcased on gleaming silver plates and platters. Clad in their respective towels, Draco set Hermione on the edge of the bed and tucked her untangled locks behind her ears with a smirk. He was kneeling, his own towel secured low about his waist, and yet Hermione still had to tilt her head, just slightly, to look up into his eyes. Silvery-blonde hair fell over his eyes, completely dry so soon, and she marveled at how long it had gotten over the passing months. It was almost as long as her own, but not quite. She couldn’t help but tuck his own hair behind his ears, smiling dreamily up at him.

“You’re so tall,” hummed Hermione, still feeling the drunken effects of the suffocating arousal. “You grew...When did you become a giant of a man?”

Hermione’s fingers had drifted from his hair, down the sides of his neck to ghost over the glands that lay there, just underneath the skin. She brushed her fingers further down, tracing the lines of his clavicle, and then back up to his jaw, his cheekbones. She gazed into his eyes, like quicksilver, speckled with the faintest blues - melting ice in morning light. Expressive. Reflective. Perfect.

When had he become so perfect?

Draco was smiling in return, large hands cupping her cheeks, while his fingers entwined in her hair, “It has something to do with mates… The longer they prolong bonding, the more the magic and hormones adapt. Let’s eat and hydrate, and mum sent us both infertility potions. Then we can work on the nest.”

He dipped his head, then. A chaste kiss. Simple. Sweet. Quick. Enough to emote how he felt, but without stoking the fires of desire that would threaten to consume them. The usually inquisitive Hermione took his hands and rose with him on unsteady feet, trusting him more than any other since the war. After the trials, and over the years, a foundation of trust had been built, slowly. They had been friends for years, growing closer as Hermione had drifted apart from Harry and Ron. There been a divide between the Trio after the Final Battle, especially between Hermione and Ron. When she had intervened on behalf of the Malfoys during the trials, still recovering, but vehement in her interviews that they all deserved leniency, it had caused a massive row, and Ron had rebuked her for it. That had been Hermione's breaking point, and there had been no way for Harry to try and repair that friendship. Harry went with Ron to Auror Training, and Hermione had returned to her recovery, rebuilding Hogwarts, meeting with Narcissa on how to procure properties to house the war orphans, and finally, returning to Hogwarts to finish her NEWT year.

Draco had attended his final year, as well. They had started the spread of House unity that year, showing Gryffindors and Slytherins could be civil, could be friends, and now that they would be mated, bonded and married, that differences could be overcome. Hermione had grown so close to Draco over the years following the end of the war, and she valued it more than anything else.

So, of course, she let go of the control she clung to for so long, and allowed him to lead. He offered her water and potions, she took them without issue, aware that he would never lie to her. He made a plate of edibles for her to nibble on, and she thanked him, because he knew exactly what she liked to eat. Draco even assisted her in re-settling the blankets, pillows and sheets to her specifications to re-make her nest, his presence soothing as she frantically. They worked together, despite Hermione's increasing anxiety over every detail, until she deemed the bed perfect, and they were able to curl up together among the pillows to finish their respective meals of fruits, cheeses, and chilled meats. She didn't complain as Draco urged her to drink several glasses of water, or encouraged her to eat more proteins from the selection of nuts and meats, even certain fruits. They drank, they ate, they conversed as easily as a spring breeze through a meadow, effortless.

"How did I not recognize the signs, before now?" asked Hermione, talking around a plump grape. "We are obviously mates, which isn't uncommon, but... With the birth rates so low, and then designations lean towards alphas and betas -"

Draco smiled, shaking his head as he interrupted her thought process, "You're not the only one who failed to notice. I've always felt a certain way, and I'd been conflicted for years on whether I should act on my emotions or not, but I knew I wasn't worthy. I couldn't repent fully for what I said, what I had done during our school years... I didn't think it was possible to have a mate, and for that mate to be you, the one person I've always wanted... It's only been within the last year that I realized."

"I remember the window ledge, in the Hogwarts library, after the battle," explained Hermione, setting her plate down on the nightstand in order to take his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together until their palms were touching. "There was a spark of life between us when we touched. It was just... something I had no answer for, but I think it was a precursor to this, now, between us."

 

“I thought it was just me,” smirked Draco, as the current thrummed between them, harmonious. “I’ve been chasing that spark for years.” 

 

“Draco?” Hermione said quietly. She waited until he looked back down at her, intensely captivated by the connection of their magics and souls caressing in that one touch. Hermione had marvelled at how small her hand looked entwined with his own, but there was something pressing she wanted to say before clarity was lost. “I want to seal this now, together, before… I want to remember it - my first time with you.”

 

He smiled, wide and full of wonder, pure, genuine happiness, as he answered her without hesitation, “Yes. More than anything…”

 

Every worry, every thought, every little thing simply fell away when their lips met in a searing kiss...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
